


Nothing To Lose

by NocturnalLament



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Characters, Alternate Universe, Background Relationships, Boarding School, British, Fluff, Gay Sex, Kyman - Freeform, M/M, School, Smut, Teen Angst, Teenage Drama, Unconventional Relationship, teen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3230264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NocturnalLament/pseuds/NocturnalLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After having his heart brutally broken by Stan, Kyle’s life takes an unexpected turn when his parents enroll him in an all-male boarding school deep in the British countryside. Thrown into this new environment he will make many enemies and allies, and will learn that there’s more to his mysterious and callous roommate than first meets the eye. British school AU, contains language and sexual content. Mostly KYMAN. R&R</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A storm on the horizon (Chapter 1)

The rain falls in drenching sheets, the torrent thrumming harshly against the sodden country roads. The crystalline droplets trace a melancholy trail across the slightly tinted glass, seemingly a reflection of the inner turmoil of Kyle Broflovski.

It had been half an hour since they had driven into the vast green expanse of the countryside, the picturesque rolling hills had looked like the screensaver of an old windows PC until the heavens had opened; yet now as his father's once-pristine BMW wades through mud and filth he finds himself yearning for the grey cement streets and towering structures of steel and glass he had grown accustomed to.

The car shudders and lurches over the treacherously flooding dirt roads, causing his mother to yelp.

"This place is even further away than it sounded…" States Ike, his nervous voice addressing no-one in particular as he gazes intently out the window, as if he expected some form of escape to majestically materialize in front of him. He fiddles absentmindedly at the cuffs of his dress shirt.

"You're damn right, were in the middle of bloody nowhere." The redhead mutters, unafraid to voice his discontent. Unlike his younger adopted brother, he had no qualms about angering his parents. Not after this.

Kyle feels his mother's gaze harden, no longer needing to see his mother's face to notice her frustration. She'd shout at him, most likely, for the usage of expletives but such an action would be futile now. When looked at in this light, maybe there is some benefit to this whole situation. At least his overbearing mother couldn't pester him after she discarded him in this mud-infused hellhole.

He pulls his iPod from his pocket, tuning out the thrashing of the rain and the uneasy silence of the car with songs he used to love – tunes that once filled him with joy that make him feel almost numb now, filled with the same empty feeling that he always does when he is reminded of Stan.

It had been almost a year since they'd met, that bittersweet moment forever stained on the parchment of his memory in indelible ink. It had been the beginning of March, and the air had become slightly crisper as the heavy dregs of moisture form the February storms had faded, leaving the new spring air feeling strangely hopeful. The raven-haired boy had entered his life as quickly as he had left it. His unannounced arrival had taken the whole school by surprise, the relatively small-scale private establishment rarely had new students and never any that had arrived so unexpectedly. He had stood before the class - tie slightly lopsided and his glossy hair attractively tousled – and spoke in a slightly hoarse voice. "Marsh," he had declared, leaning so that his strong figure rested on the bookcase behind him. He was charming in an effortless, laid back way – a long-awaited break from the narcissistic, try-hards that seemed to be in abundance in this dead-end excuse of a school. It's something that he would never openly admit, but Kyle was immediately compelled by the suave, seemingly disinterested stranger that towered before him.

It was a week before he had spoken to Kyle, and by that time his polite intrigue had grown into some odd combination of fascination and attraction, his boredom at the simplistic school work long forgotten since his blossoming preoccupation with the mysterious younger man. Stan had approached Kyle one afternoon, after being advised by his fellow pupils to partner with him for their science project (After his arrival at the schools some years ago, it had become a one-sided joke to have Kyle as a partner on a joint project, as they were well aware that he valued his grades enough to do all the work once they had refused to co-operate).

"Wow, you're really bloody tall!" Kyle had blurted out in the most unsophisticated manner he deemed possible, and promptly threw his hands to his lips as if the action could undo his unceremonious greeting. Stan was not offended at this outburst, quite to the contrary – he had laughed until he was gasping for air, chuckling involuntarily at the mercy of his amusement.

From that first laugh a strange bond had formed, strong yet pliable. What was at first a meagre friendship had silently and relentlessly morphed into something foreign and thrilling, an unfathomable attraction.

The same connection that – in his affluence and eagerness – left him broken once severed.

…

Ike's hesitant fingers stir Kyle from his haze, nervously anticipating a dose of the hostility that emanates from the elder boy. In response. He runs his fingers roughly through his unkempt, flame-red curls and dislodges his earpiece reluctantly, as if his uncertainty could somehow deter the imminent situation.

"Were almost there," mutters Ike, who is aware at how obvious this remark is yet still feels compelled to break the silence. "You should probably put your tie back on, dude."

Surely enough, as he battles a futile war with the silk at his neck and glares at the thinning trees, a large sign emerges from the foliage. The metallic letters gleam in the meagre trails of sunlight that fight through the dense clouds overhead, the unnecessarily opulent school crest boasts the same dreary grey of the awful uniform.

The ornate gates are coated in worn golden paint, peeling and beginning to rust, but it doesn't have the prison-like feel I had envisioned – no observation towers or heavy metal chains. Almost as if the students stay here willingly.

"Are you sure this is the front gate? I was expecting a little more 'Arbeit Macht Frei', perhaps some armed fascists to gun down escapees…"

"KYLE!" Sheila bellows, "Do NOT belittle our people!"

"I was just saying-"

"Please," interjects his father, a rare but welcome interruption. "I know this change is hard for you but we've spent a lot of money so you can come here, Kyle. We care about you and your future. After everything that happened recently we feel this is the best option for you. For the BOTH of you."

Kyle grumbles in defeat, drawing in his knees so that his overly polished shoes rest precariously on the edge of the leather seat. As always, their father was the single voice of reason. Gerald had been understanding, even offering Kyle support through the last two months.

His mother, however, was a different story. Ever since she realized Kyle would never marry a nice Jewish woman and raise a traditional family she had become increasingly distant and argumentative. During the recent affairs she was distressed, although this was less compassion for Kyle's situation and emotions but rather disgust at the concept of him harbouring romantic feelings toward another man. Kyle likes to believe this change of situation was entirely his father's idea, and is slightly reassured by the claims that this decision was made in his best interests. Despite what he feels compelled to believe, he cannot shake the feeling that his mother was so accepting of the plan because he would ultimately have to leave the household. What seems hardest to comprehend, however, is why his parents would feel the need to send him to an all-male boarding school. Kyle is still unsure whether this is an awful idea, and doesn't quite wish to find out by experience.

 

What he thinks is the end might just be the new beginning he so desperately needs, however...

Even if this salvation comes in an unexpected form.


	2. The Two Boys (chapter 2)

The gravel of the driveway crackles under the pressure of the mud-drenched tyres, a loud crunch that causes intrigued faces to appear at the upper windows of the grand reception building. Eager to witness the transfer student first-hand, the children gather at the glass as if the Batmobile had materialized onto the pristine lawns, clambering to be the first to observe the entrance of another innocent victim.

A woman opens the oversized oak doors, wearing a painfully fake smile of welcoming. She gestures towards the building, both as a greeting and a command.

As I grasp our cases from the boot of the car, I become acutely aware that Ike is staring at her – the hem of her skirt, the curve of her torso. This fails to disgust me like it would have before, now I just feel a deep-seated pang of jealousy.  Why can’t I find her attractive the way he can? Everything could be so simple.

The thought is blown out of the water as I drag my bags hesitantly up the stairs, lumbering into the ornate reception room. Leaning against a marble pillar, my weary eyes come to rest upon the receptionist – the masculine angle of his jaw, his sharp nose and the trembling biceps that stretch the dark material of his suit.

 _Fucking hell!_ I have to pull myself together, I can’t keep-

“Are you the Broflovskis?” he enquires, tearing his eyes from the computer. “Welcome! Please take a seat over there for a moment, I’ll be with you in a minute or two.”

We reluctantly sit, the anticipation swirling in our respective guts. Ike seems to be relatively composed, but once I see my mother conversing conspicuously with the woman at the door my stomach falls to the floor, my nerves ignited.

They spoke for several minutes more, the implications of the cautiously hushed tone of their voices reddening my cheeks with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. Mother glances at me, her eyes slightly narrowed as she murmurs to the other woman who thankfully doesn’t look too confused or disgusted... I think. She’s not even trying to hide the fact she’s talking about me. My mother has this way of making it seem as if my sexuality is some kind of disease – something shameful and foul, something that should be rejected and overcome. Something to warn people about.

The man from behind the desk saunters over toward the waiting area, procuring some documents from a faded and worn folder and handing us each a set of papers: several sheets to sign, timetables, information on the school and maps of the impressive expanse of land it is situated upon – the standard welcome pack. I flick through the maps to see that two large buildings had been highlighted; I question this for a moment before the man seems to sense my unspoken inquiry. He gestures toward a grand structure on the edge of the grounds, circled in translucent green ink.

“This building here is Sylvester house, and will be your place of residence for the following year,” he states, tapping the building with an outstretched finger. “Your roommate is aware of your arrival, and we have arranged bedding and some basic supplies to be delivered before curfew tonight.” He glances to Ike, who seems engrossed in the monochrome map spread before us.

“Ike will be staying in the Casterbridge dorms on the other side of campus. We do not usually allow visitation to other residential buildings during designated learning times or after half past eight in the evening, but I’ve highlighted both buildings on the maps so you can visit each other during your free time.” He reaches into the pocket of his suit, producing two keys and handing them to their respective owners. Ike seems excited at the prospect of dormitory living, eagerly taking his keys and looking at them fondly. I hesitantly extend my hands, clasping onto the cool metal of the jagged surface. _‘K. Brovlofski, Sylv.House, Room 84’_ reads the inscription, and I take a moment to memorize the number before hastily shoving it into the inside pocket of my blazer.

“We can go through more details later, but you have been given more information about the academy rules and expectations. We’ve arranged for two of your classmates to give you a quick run-down of the school, so feel free to ask them any questions you like.” He turns to the doorway and beckons in two students that seemingly materialized beneath the oak frame. “Kenny and Craig are both in your dorm and form class, Kyle, so they’ve volunteered to help you gets settled. If you need anything don’t hesitate to ask them for assistance.”

The two figures amble over, and I stand warily in greeting. The taller of the two looks rather tired, his angular features seemingly carved into his smooth marble face. There is a slight light of curiosity in his shimmering cobalt eyes, but he is either too indifferent or too smart to express his intrigue. He is tall and has a little muscle tone, hidden mostly by his height. It was relieving to see him dressed casually in faded blue jeans and a navy shirt, his blue hat was perched at a slight angle on his short midnight locks, the yellow bobble perched on his head shifting slightly as he moves. The smaller boy - who looks about my age – smiles slightly, his chapped lips partially obscured by an orange scarf that is wrapped tightly around his neck. He drags nicotine-stained fingers through his attractively tousled blonde hair, shifting slightly under his worn orange parka that could easily be two sizes too big for him. The zip is parted, revealing a dark shirt of an obscure band with a rather suggestive album cover. The adults glare menacingly at the young man, raising their brows at the scantily clad brunette on his clothing. He smiles innocently, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes – I think I like him already.

 


	3. A Doorway and a Sinking Feeling

I wave apathetically at Ike as the odd pair escort me from the reception building, earning an encouraging smile which raises my spirits slightly. We sprint through the pummelling rain, taking shelter in a nearby building. At first it appears to be an eloquent chapel, with highly arched roofs, intricately carved pillars and shimmering expanses of stained glass; only once the heavy wooden door swings to a shut behind me do I recognise the familiar musty scent and the vast rows of densely packed bookshelves. The grand building has a wonderful atmosphere of knowledge, the deliberate silence subtly lingering in the dusty air. I have to admit, the place looks rather inviting.

"This is the main library-thing," drones the taller boy (Craig, I think it was). "It's got a shit-ton of books if that's what floats your boat, I guess."

Kenny smirks, shifting his golden bangs. "Seriously dude, no-one ever really studies here. I swear half the guys that come here just want to ogle the hot librarians, and the other half are either screwing around with their friends or buying playboys from upperclassmen."

My eyebrow subconsciously creeps up my forehead, as I cast an incredulous look toward the two. Kenny grins and his counterpart rolls his eyes.

"What he means is that he trades playboy magazines to the younger kids that don't know any better" Craig mutters, picking at some blue fluff that had anchored itself to his sleeve. Kenny looks peevishly at the boy, muttering something about disrespecting 'fine art'.

We wonder around for a while more, it's not much of a tour but I have a general idea of the grounds now and know which teachers to avoid, who to suck up to and which teachers have a 'sweet ass' according to the lewdly-minded blonde (not that I bothered to pay too much attention to that part, naturally). We end up trudging along a beaten path, following signs directing us to the dormitories. The fact that Ike's housing is on the other side of the grounds is slightly unnerving, he may not be related to me by blood but he is my brother in every other sense of the word. I need his presence to help ground me in reality.

The path deviates, and Craig gestures toward a wooden sign sticking from the saturated ground. He pulls at his hat, covering his head more thoroughly in a futile attempt to combat the quickly lowering temperature.

"Here we are," he speaks in casual monotone, "Sylvester house."

"It's getting quite dark already, we should go in and get settled before the dorm master comes and kicks our asses." Kenny looks at me pointedly, his mischievous smirk suddenly reappearing. "Seriously though, he's a right douche. Trust me; don't get on his bad side. He locks the gates at ten and if you're late back then you're fucked, dude. This kid who used to be in these dorms last year was late back and had to sleep outside on the path all night, Scrooge wouldn't let him in."

"Scrooge?"

"It's what we call him! Y'know, like the dude from that Charles Dickens' film?"

"Charles Dickens wrote the book, retard. Jesus Christ." Craig interjects, blatantly flipping Kenny off.

"Same thing." Kenny waves dismissively. "Call him Mr Lewis to his face though. He teaches graphics sometimes, so you don't need to worry too much about him unless you're in his class."

The path ends at a large faded metal gate, left ajar to allow free passage to the dormitory. The building is grand; however it has a charm that many of the newer buildings lack. Ivy climbs along the façade - reminiscent of rural cottages - framing sizeable windows and bringing character to the structure. Craig gestures to the entrance, meandering up to the door with me and Kenny in his wake.

"We'll show you around I guess, but you'll get used to everything pretty soon. Sylvester house only has guys around our age, so it's not exactly heaving with people. You'll get to know people soon enough." Kenny begins to reassure me, the glint of nervousness evident in my weary eyes. "What room are you in? Scrooge says we're on the same floor, so we'll be just across the hall if you ever need us. Did you get a key?"

"Oh! Yeah, hang on a sec." I begin to dig in my pockets, wrapping my hand around the cool metal and retrieving it. A quick glance at the engravement refreshes my memory, and I look to my escorts' expectant faces, hoping for direction. "Room 84. Where is that?"

The pair exchange a weary glance, murmuring quietly in concerned tones before gazing back at me for a moment.

"Is that what the key says?" Kenny inquires, and I show him my key to make my point. "You'll be on the third floor then, opposite our room."

I stare at the two incredulously, awaiting an explanation for their previous concern. They disregard my questioning stares and retreat into the foyer, with me in their wake, and cross through a pale blue door into some kind of communal lounge. There are pool tables and televisions in the far corner, surrounded by chattering males. They all seem to be about my age, and they fill the room with a youthful, laid-back energy. There are people huddled around televisions, pawing at controllers and watching their games excitedly. Most are in groups, enthused by their individual conversations or busy studying huddled around the large oak table in the centre of the room, noses buried deep in their textbooks.

"Welcome to the lounge." Craig states, arms spread outward, "This is where most of our shit goes down, and is the hub of our dorm community. Most people spend their time here, but you can chill in your room if you'd like. Despite our monthly petitions we don't have games in our rooms, so you can usually find everyone here outside of school hours. Get used to it quickly, because you're probably going to spend the majority of your year stuck in here."

Kenny smirks, as if there is some inside joke that I have missed. I shoot him a questioning look and he shrugs innocently, but I maintain my gaze until he rolls his eyes and pulls me aside.

"Look, I feel obliged to tell you that your roommate is a bit of a douche. Don't take him seriously because he's mostly full of shit, but he's not always that easy to get along with." Kenny voice seems legitimately concerned, which is reassuring despite his warning words. "He's OK when you know him, but keep your guard up while he gets used to you."

"I'll be fine" I wave my hand dismissively, hoping to believe in my own words. "He's not going to be the first asshole I've had to deal with."

Seemingly satisfied with my answer, he nods and leads me upstairs. The walls of the stairwell are decorated with incredible paintings, beautiful scenes and landscapes, and it's only once I see an image of the dorm building do I realize that these had been painted by the students.

God forbid everyone is this talented here, I'll stick out like a sore thumb… not that that's unusual, considering the bright hue of my hair.

"The paintings are pretty cool huh?" Kenny states, vocalising my thoughts. "One of Craig's is up here; it's the one of the lake. He's an incredible artist."

Craig just shrugs modestly at that, rolling his eyes at the boy's praises. His painting is truly wonderful, though. The sunset lights shimmering realistically across halcyon waters, a building upon the stunning horizon, the afternoon light filtering through immaculate trees.

"Well I do have lots of practice I guess, but it's not as if it's really that amazing. There are plenty of better artists in the elective." Craig murmurs nonchalantly, unconcerned with the compliment.

We reach the third floor, and I begin to feel an awful anticipation rising in my gut. Surely my roommate couldn't be that bad, right? Kenny had felt obliged to warm me, so there must be a cause for his concern. I'll be fine, I have to be. I've never been the type to let difficult people get to me, and my stubborn nature wouldn't abandon me now.

The atmosphere becomes denser, and Kenny takes on a more serious tone once he notices my concerned expression.

"You'll be alright, Just don't let his bullshit get to you and you won't need to worry. If you need to you can crash in our room for a bit, just make sure to knock first."

This offer helps calm my nerves slightly; the support is a much needed reassurance.

 

Hesitantly, I reach for the handle and pull open the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Whoever could his roommate be? We finally get to meet Cartman in the next chapter, so the pace is naturally going to pick up from here on out. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if it'll be as smooth as our favourite little Jew would like. Oh, the cursed suspense!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and please leave a comment, I love to hear from all of you lovely people :)
> 
> The next update will probably be on a weekend as usual, I was just so excited for the fourth chapter I thought I'd post a little earlier. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as loved writing it.
> 
> \- NocturnalLament


	4. Charcoal Scribbles and Chocolate Eyes

**A.N. Sorry this took so long. I've been so ridiculously busy and this was a ridiculously hard scene to write. I've lost count of how many changes I've made to this chapter. I'm just glad it's finally done! Aside from oneshots, this is my longest chapter - almost 3,000 words! I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

 

In retrospect, the whole introduction was rather surreal.

The room was dark, and the floor was littered in various garments; rich wooden planks were mostly concealed by the abundance of fabric strewn haphazardly across the floorboards, carelessly discarded by their owner. The pale walls were sloppily decorated with a plethora of posters: Rammstein, Slasher flicks, horror movies, obscure foreign metal bands, Mel Gibson movies and old wartime propaganda with undecipherable German text.

On the desk, there lay several framed images. A beautiful, brunette woman stares back at the camera, the glass at the corners of the picture fractured from a forceful impact. The shards are as poignant and sharp as the scribbled writing in the corner, long faded in black ink. There is also an old cat with matted, thinning grey hair. Its plump body rests lazily across a faded 'Terrence and Phillip' duvet, sleeping silently. A caricature of an overweight child, dressed sloppily in an oversized jacket and a knitted bobble hat sits beside it, its frame chipped in the corners. The most recent image is also the most noticeable – a tall, dark brunette with a glimmer in his stunning chocolate irises, his frame bulky but toned, holding the extra weight in a way that is complementary to his figure. He is wearing a flatteringly fitted  _space invaders_  t-shirt that helps define his broad shoulders, tensed as he holds his arms over the shoulders of his two companions. In one hand he holds a red plastic cup filled with an ambiguous amber liquid, in the other a black permanent marker. To his right Kenny stands, looking amusedly into the camera with a lively grin plastered deliriously on his drunken face. On the man's left is a slightly younger looking boy, his innocent eyes looking nervously at his friends as he chews on his lip. He is blonde, and has short tufts of pale hair atop his head; his left cheek decorated in smeared ink, several penises drawn sloppily across his sweet visage, marring his youthful complexion. Their surroundings are darkened, the only truly visible feature being the luminous banner wishing everyone a 'Happy New Year 2014'.

They seemed so content, so joyful in the idyllic image, a harsh comparison to the way I'd spent my new year – crying in a corner over some douchebag that would never love me.

 _How pathetic_. Perhaps it really is a good thing for me to come here…?

 

Many smaller pictures littered the walls, glossy printouts and polaroids,messily mounted photographs by some unknown photographer. Upon further inspection, they seem to be very skilfully taken. The invisible artist had shot each scene with creative precision – from shots of decaying trees and melancholy landscapes to scenes of eloquent grandeur and ornate statues. Each print is so expressive, so vibrant. So oddly beautiful.

There were several studies of human anatomy above the desk, a young male reclined across a sofa, against a wall, on his knees. The beautiful sketches bring the unknown man to life; the self-assured way he holds his body, the sheen of perspiration across his angular brow, his piercing stare. The man watches the artist, gazing through the graphite image and straight into the mind of the observer. His intricately drawn irises communicate something familiar – simultaneously disturbing and intriguing, a strange expression that causes my heart to clog my narrowing throat. Oh, how well I knew that look, how vividly I recalled that same irrational light in my own gaze at each flurried touch of Stan's lips, each beguiling caress. That strange border between unequivocal lust and undying affection, the scalding collision of passions of the body, heart and mind - The heated gaze of an impassioned lover.

Entranced by the mysterious portrait, I hesitantly extended my arms and brushed my gentle thumb across the coarse paper, staring awed at the composition. The accuracy is one thing, the skill of the artist is undeniable – but the most outstanding feature is the emotion expertly depicted in the curious man's expression.

 

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Surprised by the sudden vocalization, I spun around frantically, pulled from my odd trance. Stunned, my hurried footwork faltered, and in my haste I lost my balance.

I Stumbled over - my eyes screwed shut perilously as I fell - dreading the imminent impact. I tensed in anticipation of an embarrassing collision that never came, instead finding myself in the unexpected grip of two strong arms. Large hands clutched at my sides, the firm hold causing sizable fingers to dig subtly into my chest. I gasped at the unexpected contact, unsure of who these warm hands had belonged to. My cheeks burnt scarlet from my clumsiness as I took a moment to orient myself, hesitantly opening my eyes to gaze at the tall figure that towered before me.

His deep eyes danced with humour and intrigue as he slowly took in the image before him - my reddened skin and shocked face, body twisted uncomfortably in his grasp. He has a sharp jaw and well defined features, slightly rounded from his extra weight. His eyes were delicious chestnuts and chocolate, swirling with thinly veiled excitement as he watched me with a strange glint in his captivating gaze.

I had suddenly became aware of my proximity to the odd man at that moment, his bodily heat radiating outward and warming my skin across the little space that separated us. He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing roughly in his throat at the action, lips parted slightly. His hot breath danced across my skin when he exhaled, making my hair stand on end and further reddening my flushed cheeks.

"Huh," a teasing voice hums, an amused smirk evident in his voice. "I guess Jews really don't have coordination after all..."

"What? Who-" I started, surprised by the puzzling atmosphere. I couldn't quite place the unusual vibes being given off by the strange man, squirming slightly under his persistent gaze as he watched me with a slightly unnerving deliberation.

"How do you know I'm Jewish…?."

"Oh please, ' _Brovlofski'?_ With a name like that you must be Jew-royalty or something." He chides, his voice steady and deep despite the absurdity of his words. "I got told you'd be coming. Thought you'd have turned up by now, honestly. Did those assholes kidnap you or something?"

"Kidnap me? We got here as fast as we could! I… wait, Jew royalty? What is that supposed to mean?"

The boy arched his eyebrows incredulously, as if the answer to my question was painfully obvious.

"Your name is painfully Jewish," He explained simply. "I have to admit you're not quite what I was expecting. You're still ridiculously lanky and your nose is on the big side, but you're not that bad to look at… for a ginger Jew, I mean."

What on earth? This guy surely couldn't have been serious.

"I only look lanky in comparison to you! At least I'm not a tactless anti-Semitic fatass."

His eyes narrowed maliciously at the insult, and his sudden change of stature had me worrying I may have crossed some unclarified line. The brunette grumbled angrily, and without warning his grip released, causing my unsuspecting form to collide violently with the adamantine floorboards. I lay in shock for several moments, watching a smug Cheshire-cat grin spread across his mocking face.

"I'm not fat, I'm  _big boned._ " He mocks, his voice deep and spiteful. "Fuck you, Jew. You don't know a good thing when you see it."

"Sure, whatever you need to keep telling yourself to get through the day."

The frustrated boy opened his mouth to reply, but he is suddenly interrupted by the crash of the door. The wood shudders and the hinges creak as it is flung open, revealing a rather disturbed blonde with a garish orange parka balanced on his shoulders.

"I heard a crash. What did you do? You better-"

Kenny began to scold the taller boy, but his lecture trailed off immediately when he noticed me sprawled haphazardly across the floor. "What the actual hell, Cartman?"

"I'm fine!" I hurriedly answer, interjecting before he could tell some absurd tale. To demonstrate the authenticity of the statement I pulled myself upright, wincing subtly at the dull ache of my hips. "I just fell."

"The weight of the gold around his neck became too much to bear, his legs just gave way. Oh, his unfortunate covetous soul!" The larger boy's voice was laced with dripping sarcasm, amused by his petty joke. I shot him a biting glare, but this only seemed to heighten his enjoyment of the situation.

"Behave, Cartman. I'm not joking. If I hear one bloody thing from Scrooge  _I_ _ **will**_ _tell_ _ **everyone**_  about what happened at the New Year's party."

The boy snorted in an outward show of apathy, but he was obviously disturbed by this intriguing prospect.

"Whatever, poor boy. I'm not surprised you had to resort to such a cheap method of manipulation."

"You're here on a scholarship too! Grow up and get some new insults."

He turned to face me, shooting a rugged smile in my direction. "Don't pay any attention to him. I'll see you at dinner, okay Kyle? Hang in there."

I just grumble at that, dumping my bags on the bed against the other wall as I bid him goodbye. At least there was someone half-decent in this place.

______________________________

 

Although the other half of the room looked like the aftermath of some awful bombing, the walls beside my bed were unusually bare – the only variation in the sheen of paint being lighter patches from long gone posters. Perhaps I could ask the guy that took all of I fell back onto the freshly made bed; I savoured the smell of fresh cotton and lavender fabric softener, filling me with a sweet, much needed sense of relaxation. Waves of exhaustion washed over me, my mind overwhelmed by the events of the cursed day. Why can't everything go back to normal? As usual, I can't help but long for the past.

"Are you going to unpack? I don't want your shit lying around… Are you listening to me?"

"Hey, dude!" bellows the brunette boy, launching a slipper across the room and missing me by several inches.  ** _"Jew!"_**

"YES! Okay!  _Fine!_ I'll sort it put after dinner. This place looks like it's been ransacked by badgers or something, I hardly think a few more bags will make a difference... Calm your tits."

"I don't have tits. I told you, I'm not fat."

"Sure," I snort. He wasn't truthfully that large, but his flared nostrils and clenched fists were far too amusing to ignore. I simply couldn't pass up an opportunity to aggravate the asshole, and his weight seemed to be sensitive topic as far as he was concerned. "Is that what you got your scholarship for? Incredible debating skills?"

"Yeah right. Not  _all of us_  have nice, rich Jewish daddies to pay for our education! It's only a partial one, I'm not here for free like that cheapskate pauper Kenny. He's only here because his parents supply some of the senior board members with drugs and shit. His poor as hell parents said they'd tip off the police if they didn't give him a place, so he doesn't even deserve to be here."

"But you do deserve to be here? I assume  _you're_  not here because  _you_  have friends, so what up with you?"

He grins at my inquiry, lounging back on his unmade bed carelessly. "I won an obstacle course, naturally."

I snort violently at the prospect before realizing that that was probably not the best reaction when it comes to this guy. He doesn't seem to care though, and even snickers lightly at how preposterous the statement had seemed. "Just kidding. It's part of a young offender's rehabilitation scheme. I've seen some fucked up shit, you know. I could have gone to juvie but I convinced the case workers otherwise. I'm so talented and I have so much potential that they pulled some strings, just for me."

"Bullshit, they must have been deluded to do that for anyone, especially _you_. What would you even have done anyway? Did you fall over and crush a small child with your colossal weight? Run some neo-Nazi hate group?"

"Ha! I wish. There was this kid who was a dick to me, tried to make me look stupid… he didn't succeed at that of course. He wasn't smart enough to succeed, but he tried. Asshole tried to trick me with a botched transaction, so you know what I did?" He locked his eyes on mine, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "I made him  _eat his parents."_

I paused for a minute, staring dumbfounded into his eyes.

"You think I'm going to fall for that?  _You're_  the one that's deluded. That doesn't even make sense."

"It does. I ground them up into chili and fed it to him. You should've seen the look on his face when I told him what he'd eaten."

I can't fucking believe this moron.

"Grow up. Seriously?"

"Yes! Just because you're kind lie all the time it doesn't mean everyone does it.  _Filthy Kike."_

 _What did he say?_  The words hit me like a ton of bricks, and my jaw fell open with the weight of them.

_It's not fair. None of it. I just want to go home, curl up in my room and scream until my throat is bloody._

It all hit me at once; the anxiety, the frustration, the guilt, the worry, the deep seated hatred. It bunt like acid in my chest, an all-consuming fury that begged for some form of release.

_Ever since everything started going downhill, I would just cry. Cry out my fears, my loathing, my defeat. A pathetic dance of sorrow, stuck on an awful loop. Tears and self-pity._

_But no, I'm not going to waste my tears on this asshole._ _**Never.** _

 

 **_"Shut the fuck up!_ ** **Don't call me that! What kind of a moron are you? I'm not going to deal with your shit." I spit each syllable, punctuating each word with exasperated venom. "I hate this bloody prison and your fat ass is hardly helping! Just leave me** **_the fuck_ ** **_alone_ ** **."**

 

Once I've finished my outburst, I felt the angered tremors of my knees subside, my heaving breaths slowing as my furious heartbeat decelerated, the adrenaline fading from my veins _. I just shouted at him._ I flinched involuntarily at the thought, back on edge as I prepared myself for the collision of his heavy fists or the lash of his sharp tongue.

After a moment of silence, our eyes met and I was suddenly mesmerised by how expressive they were. They lit up like the northern lights, shining in amusement and strange curiosity, with an odd trace of something difficult to place - a strange concoction of fascination, pride and anticipation. His inexplicable emotions danced gracefully in captivating hues of cinnamon and burnt umber.

"What do you know? Our little ginger Jewboy might have some bite in him after all."

His voice sounded so genuinely pleased that I felt a subtle rush of blood to my cheeks, perplexed by his sudden approval. I'd only just met him, but it felt like I'd known him forever.

_What on earth does this man want?_

 

If only I had known then what this boy would one day mean to me.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I have so much gratitude to all the lovely people that have liked and followed this story, and especially everyone that took the time to review. Your feedback and support is invaluable to me, and I love you all.
> 
> I'm not sure whether to add in Crenny (Craig X Kenny) or Creek (Craig X Tweek) so let me know which you'd rather see in later chapters. If there are other ships/cameos you want to see then please tell me, I'd love to include a little fanservice for your favourite characters etc.
> 
> \- NocturnalLament
> 
> Blankslate101 – that's a good idea! I'll probably slip that in in one of the next chapters. We'll meet the rest of the gang soon, don't worry.


	5. Insults and Uncertanties

** A.N. A relatively mild offensive language warning ahead. But this _is_  South Park, so I guess this is a given. Enjoy! **

I open my eyes to an unfamiliar world.

Shimmering light streams through the window, illuminating the dust particles that dance gracefully through the air, riding the flow of the convection currents. There is a prominent quiet, a calm absence of sound that soothes my senses, contributing to the wonderful sense of tranquillity washing over my soothed body. Still between the realms of dreams and reality, I am untroubled by the events of the previous day as I instead focus on my foreign surroundings.

The intricate plaster patterns on the ceiling are the first thing that I notice to be amiss, the unusual texturing unlike that I ever recall seeing. Then I notice the pale walls, patches reminiscent of old decorations. As I begin to piece together where I am, my relaxation dissipates and I am left feeling rather uneasy. I contemplate running to the bathroom for a moment, but my nausea eventually subsides, leaving me feeling somewhat hollow.

How many miles am I from London? From everything I’ve known? There might have been some difficulties recently, but at least there I knew where I was,  _who_  I was.

It dawns on me I’ve boarded a raft and been cast out to sea. Was my makeshift boat doomed from the outset? I can’t help but feel like there’s a shipwreck on the horizon. The uncertainty of the situation is wearing away at my nerves, igniting my self-doubt and gnawing at my insides.

_ What do I do? _

“Hey Jewboy! You need to get ready. We’ve got half an hour until we have to leave.”

“Go away,” I groan at the mysterious voice, “I want to go home.”

“That’s what they all say. You’ll be fine in a few weeks or so. You need to give it time, their brainwashing doesn’t work overnight.”

I look towards the source of the voice, suddenly recognising the sleepy baritone of my new roommate. What joys does he have in store for me today?

“Fuck you. I’m tired and I don’t want to be here.”

“Wow, how polite!” Cartman mocks, grinning to himself as he melodramatically smacks his palms on his plump cheeks. He looks dishevelled but oddly attractive, with the strange allure of the ‘I-just-woke-up’ look. His tousled brunette locks haphazardly frame his angular face, his weary eyes somehow maintaining their gorgeous deep hue. He wears a burgundy silk pyjama top with the top few buttons undone, revealing the pale flesh of his clavicle. I notice faint nicotine stains on his thick digits as he runs his fingers through his hair, yawning contentedly. He opens his eyes then, staring at me quizzically with one eyebrow raised.

_ Shit. I’m staring at him. _

I try to cover by shaking my head slightly, pretending I was snapping out of a trance. I make a quiet questioning noise and he watches me knowingly, a hugely satisfied grin plastered across his smug face.

 I see a blur before my eyes and dodge accordingly, shocked by the sudden movement. My muscles tense automatically, expecting some form of violence from the heavyset man. I feel almost certain I’m about to be pummelled by a pair of heavy fists, and my stomach convulses.

 I open my eyes wearily to find myself still intact, with a bundle of messily folded fabric sat messily on my lap. Cartman seemed to have enjoyed my reaction, lips turned upward in amusement as he studies my form.

“Your uniform. If you plan on going to class today you’ll probably need it.”

“Oh joy. Don’t remind me.”

He moves forward and pokes at the flaming mess of curls on my head, entertaining private thoughts as he flicks at the untameable locks. He pulls on a strand and releases it, watching it return to its coiled state. He’s oddly amused by my hair, which is quite disturbing but somehow feels like a strange compliment. He stands close as he plays with the fiery strands, and each inhalation gives me a lungful of his odd odour. The familiar smells of sickly sweet fabric softener and expensive aftershave invade my senses, accented by the faint traces of chocolate and wotsits* combining with his natural musk to make an exotic scent that is much more satisfying than it should reasonably be. The relatively mundane odours dance together to form a peculiar scent almost as unusual and strangely attractive as its source. How curiously fitting.

“Woah, your hair is nuts. It’s like some kind of red afro… a Jewfro. The genetic lottery must have really screwed you over Kahl, both Jewish and Ginger? What did you do to incite the wrath of god?” He inquires, sounding legitimately concerned by my ‘awful predicament’.

“Seriously? At least I’m not fat!”

“No, you’re a lanky bundle of skin and bones. Your clothes size is  _extra small_ , you can’t deny it. You’re a weedy motherfucker.”

“I don’t even  _want_ to ask how you knew that.”

“It’s on your uniform tags. Now get your ass out of bed or I’ll throw your shoes at you too! The teachers will give me a tonne of shit if you’re late. I’m not having my impeccable reputation ruined by a lazy, sneaky Jew.”

 “Fine, you dick.” I groan angrily at him, pushing myself up from the alluring comfort of the cashmere sheets. My once neat uniform is now slightly crumpled in a heap on my mattress, so I shake it all out in hope of smoothing out the fabric slightly.

The blazer is elegant, I must admit. It reminds me of a similar green garment I have at home somewhere, from some exclusive Italian designer. I admit that despite my inescapable ‘gayness’ as far as sexuality is concerned I hardly have an eye for fashion, but I can appreciate a well-tailored suit. The uniform is a typical business attire style affair - as most decent secondary schools have these days – but has its own subtle charm. The material appears black from a distance, but when closely observed the fabric has a lovely midnight hue, with accents of grey on the pocket flaps and the collar. The opulent school coat of arms is intimately embroidered onto the dark fabric, with silver threads woven into the design giving it a subtle shimmer. There is a grey woollen pullover with a neat V-neck, accented with Cambridge blue. Judging by the weather I assume I will become well acquainted with this particular piece of clothing. A set of pale dress shirts with light tinges of blue and dark grey formal trousers lie on my duvet, crumpled at the corners. I grab a set and lay them out neatly, quietly contemplating the attire from above.

“I don’t know what kind of million pound designer suits you’re used to wearing, but the uniform here doesn’t magically fly and clothe you on your command.” I don’t turn to look, but I can hear the sarcastic smirk in his tone.

“Oh  _really?_  How insightful. Try not to sound too bitter, it makes you look jealous. I bet if you’d been born with a silver spoon in your mouth you’d probably have eaten it anyway, lardass.”

“Such dry wit, huh Kahl? So very funny. How long have you been holding on to that one?”

I narrow my eyes at that.  _‘Kahl’?_  This guy has an odd inflection - a hint of an accent I can’t trace - but I swear he’s butchering the pronunciation of my name just to get under my skin. Sighing frustratedly, my nostrils flare as I grab a pair of boxer briefs from my suitcase.

“You sound awfully butthurt. Did I strike a chord? What the hell does money have to do with this anyway?”

“ _Pfft_. Me, butthurt? If anyone has a sore ass around here it’s you, fag.”

My heart convulses in my throat as I stand bewildered, caught out by this sudden insult. A million questions swirl in my head.   _Am I that obvious? How does he know? Did someone tell him? Did he search my things? Does he know about **him?**_

I know that it’s a common insult amongst teenagers but it’s never been directed toward me before, or even said with such conviction in my presence. In my somewhat fragile state the filthy word burns harshly. I can deal with the other insults, even the anti-Semitism, but I can’t cope with  _this!_ It’s an effective appeal to my insecurities, and I can’t help but feel sickened by his accuracy.

As I stand with my mouth agape, I’m certain that if he wasn't really sure before that my reaction was all the confirmation he needed. He seems unfazed by this revelation however, just watching my horrified look with a sparkle of amusement in his swirling chocolate irises.

“Fuck you” I spit, trying desperately to regain my composure. “Leave me alone, you bigoted prick.  _I hate you.”_

Yet as I turn, his gaze doesn’t waiver. And as I dress in the new fabrics, I can’t shake the feel of his eyes on me. I feel trapped by the gaze of a man that probably isn’t even looking my way as I remove my vest, shivering as the bitter air hits my bare skin. My face floods with warmth as the blood rushes to my cheeks, staining my upper body a vibrant red. It had been so long since I shared a room with someone other than Stan that I’d forgotten what it’s like to dress in front of an audience. Under his watchful stare, I feel unusually exposed. It’s as if this mysterious boy can see right through me, see the inner workings of my mind.

It must all be my imagination. I just need to release some stress. I’m almost eager for the distractions my classes are sure to bring.

Without a further word to Eric Cartman, I head out into the unknown.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N.: Thanks for reading! Sorry, it’s a bit of a boring/short chapter but things are really going to kick off soon. Kyle is going to meet his classmates for the first time, so I’m quite excited for it.  
> What will he find out about his roommate? What is with the way Craig is acting towards a certain caffeine-addicted blonde? Has Cartman shared Kyle's secret, or does he have one of his own? All will be revealed next week!   
> Thank you so much for reading and have a great day. Lots of love to my wonderful reviewers and followers, you are the metaphorical butter to my creative bread.  
> Until next time,
> 
> \- NocturnalLament
> 
> *Wotsits are basically the British equivalent of ‘cheesy poofs’. Do Americans actually have Cheesy Poofs, or are they just fictional? I’ve seen similar things online from America but I don’t know if it’s an actual brand.


	6. New Faces in Unwelcome Places

**A.N: I’m not too sure about how this chapter came out, I’m ill at the moment and I’m sat in bed drowning in my own tissues, so please forgive me if there are any mistakes. As always, I hope you enjoy reading.  This chapter is dedicated to Blankslate101, whose lovely reviews never fail to motivate me and always leave a big smile on my face.**

* * *

 

Amidst the vibrant bustle of activity, my mind is elsewhere. The buzzing life of the classroom drones in my ears like background traffic, disregarded in favour of my own private musings. I make no conscious attempt to notice their conversations, but I feel acutely aware that I’m likely the topic of their debates. It’s just as well, really; I don’t think I could cope with hearing stupid speculation about ‘the new kid’. It’s hardly a pleasant role, but I try to find comfort in the fact that it’s a position that I’ve filled many times previously – regardless of the difficulties that came as a consequence.

A gentle hand on my shoulder shocks me back to reality. My heart jumps into my throat at the sudden contact, and Stan’s name is on my lips. I swirl on my chair to face the unknown assailant only to be met with the blue hue of compassionate eyes and the dishevelled golden bangs of Kenny. His uniform is very disordered; his tie is undone and resting above the fold of his collar and his slightly oversized blazer is faded and littered with button badges and patches. A navy scarf is wrapped tightly around his neck, raised over his jaw so it slightly muffles the sound of his speech. I hadn’t even noticed him take the desk next to me. I smile in response, trying to appear calm and collected. I assume I failed miserably at this when he worriedly eyes my expression, leaning in so we can have a somewhat private conversation amidst the bustle of the form room.

“Are you okay? You look kind of out of it.” He inquires, his legitimate concern for my wellbeing evident in his voice. “Fatboy didn’t do anything did he? If it’s bad I’ll kick his ass! He’s probably just trying to get to you Kyle.”

His kindness brings a rare smile to my lips.

“No, I’m fine. I’m just a bit preoccupied with stuff.” I dismiss his worry, trying to assure him I can cope; even though that is something I’m not quite certain of myself.

“I won’t be angry if you don’t want me to. He did something right? You grimaced when I asked you, and knowing him he would have at least tried to piss you off by now.”

God damn it. What should I say? It’s not as if I’m unfamiliar with coping with difficult people (you had to be when you lived with my mother), but that one little insult had really thrown me off. It’s just a word. Three stupid little letters, and yet they linger in my mind like a foul odour. The paranoia and hurt lurk malignant in the back of my skull, invading my thoughts. It shouldn’t have unnerved me the way it did - It’s ridiculous, but reason doesn’t seem to placate my nerves. My response to a simple phrase is just preposterous - and I keep telling myself this - but it doesn’t change anything. The irrational fear still lingers.

“Do you know if he is… homophobic? I was just wondering, some of the things he said just seemed a little weird.” I might as well ask him, out of everyone in this god forsaken place he seems the most trustworthy.

“Oh hell no! What on earth could give you that idea?”

“He called me a fag. It doesn’t bother me particularly or anything, it’s just that-“

“Well you’re most likely gay then. Knowing him he probably just thinks he’s making an innocent observation.”

I lower my voice, disturbed by how easily he came to that conclusion. Is there some large flashing sign above my head declaring my sexual orientation? Did Ike tattoo _‘I’m gay’_ onto my forehead whilst I was asleep?

“Why would you think that? His insults are hardly a reliable basis for such assumptions.”

“Nobody questions his opinion when it comes to these matters. He’s long reigned as the ‘ _King of the Gaydar’,_ so his word is pretty much considered final. Don’t worry dude, we won’t view you any differently. Craig is gay too, so if you need to talk to anyone about this kind of thing he’ll be happy to help out. I can even smuggle you some condoms if you’d like-“

_“No!_ That won’t be necessary, just don’t worry about it, please. ‘It takes one to know one’, anyway - he should know his gossip says more about him than it does about me.”

“You’ve got that right. Did you seriously not realise yet? He hardly hides it; I would have expected you to have it figured out by now. He came out last year, it was awful. He wrote a full musical and dance number about how much he liked dick... He has a bit of a flair for the dramatic, you could say. There were streamers and balloons; he even made himself a ‘coming out’ cake. After he found out that no one really cared he got really angry at everyone. Practically the whole school could tell he was gay, and once he found out that everyone already knew he flipped his shit. He was really mad, and when he realized I was betting on his sexuality with Token and Clyde he punched a hole in my wall and cooked me brownies filled with horse laxatives. He’s not the most agreeable of people.  I’m surprised you didn’t notice straight away, I always figured he wouldn’t let us into his room because he had posters of Calvin Klein underwear models over his bed or something.”

I’m stunned, so I just sit with a dumbfounded look on my face. What? I’m pleased that there isn’t exactly a homophobia issue at this school but I hardly expected to have a roommate like… _me._ He’s hardly the type I’d expect to get on with – quite the understatement - but perhaps this could be the bridge to connect us, a common ground to help tame his inexplicable cruelty. For once, everything somehow feels slightly less bleak _. He understands._ I’ve never really had someone to share my feelings with (a certain someone had always avoided such topics) but the concept of not having to hide who I am is wonderfully liberating. Perhaps this isn’t going to be as awful as I thought it would, perhaps this is going to be the silver lining to my dreary February clouds, painfully inevitable in the obscure British countryside.

What should I say? I don’t exactly want to confirm his suspicions about me. I go with the first thing that comes to mind.

“Oh, that’s cool.”

I can’t help but mentally pat myself on the back for my wonderful tact. Such social finesse. Not long now until every weirdo here falls down in reverence at my feet.

The incessant chatter suddenly quietens as a smartly dressed woman swaggers into the room, dark brunette hair down to her sharp shoulders and her slightly elasticated skirt stretched tightly across her swaying hips. Kenny’s attention is immediately lost as he turns to gaze at the buxom brunette, appreciatively drinking in her feminine form. The woman wipes at the whiteboards, removing crude scribbles and even cruder drawings with the spear of a damp cloth (the rather realistic depictions of penises were Craig’s work, or so I’m told). The room descends into silence, and I become acutely aware that most of my classmates are completely enthralled by her presence. I can’t help but feel envious of them! Everything could be so simple if I could just find her as attractive in the same way they do, I wouldn’t even be in this awful mess. I will myself to be interested in the curvaceous female, but as usual my body and mind fail to respond to the proceedings. The only remotely attractive thing about her is her unusually masculine shoulders… they’re no way near as broad as Cartman’s, but perhaps if I covered up the rest of her body I guess she could pass as a male. I have to admit, I have quite the thing for manly shoulders. The thought of being held down my Cartman’s bulky frame, his muscle rippling under his skin as I dig my nails into his powerful shoulders flashes through my mind without warning, and the tantalising images catch me off guard.

I should not think like that, especially about _him._

“Good morning everyone. As I’m sure you are aware, we have a new student in our midst.” She starts, glancing suspiciously in my direction, and I wonder if I had somehow already made some monumental mistake - become a cause for concern. I can’t help but wonder why she looked this way… could she tell my disturbing thoughts? Is it a look of disgust? I could sympathise, I’m rather repulsed myself. I’m flooded with relief when she focuses on the desk next to me, it’s occupant suspiciously absent.

 “Wait? Where is Craig _now_? Kenny, I _told_ you to make sure he didn’t skive! This is a blatant disrespect…”

“Sorry I’m late.” Craig drones from the doorway, unaffected by the angered woman’s no-nonsense tone. He walks to the place beside me, passing a metal thermos to the blonde next to him. As I look over, I am startled by the recipient’s eye-catching appearance. He twitches slightly as he receives his gift, hugging the thermos to his chest before opening it and pouring himself a small amount of aromatic black liquid, blowing frantically on the surface of the bitter beverage to speed the cooling process. His arm shakes lightly as he brings the substance to his lips, quickly devouring the steaming coffee. He is just in his dress shirt, but seems undisturbed by the biting cold. The buttons are mismatched and his hair seems to stick out at odd angles, giving the neurotic boy a dishevelled appearance. The odd figure continues to convulse, yet these mannerisms seem to go unnoticed by all but Craig, who watches the odd boy intently.  

“Gah! T-t-thank you Craig…” The boy’s mutter seems very unnerved, and I find some comfort in the fact that someone else is more nervous than me. I’d assume he was new also, but the familiar looks Craig shoots his way have me thinking otherwise.

Then Craig does something I think very few people have ever truly seen. He smiles.

Perplexed, I look away from the odd interaction and try to focus on our teacher. She introduces herself as Miss Ellen, and hands me an envelope that I stash into one of my blazers convenient pockets – some more dull forms, most likely. I know what’s coming next, I don’t even need to hear her say it. I know the protocol. Someone shoot me, please… I don’t want to face the humiliation.

“Kyle, why don’t you come and introduce yourself?” She queries, her voice sickly sweet as she summons me to my doom. Dread builds in the pit of my stomach as I stand reluctantly, feeling many pairs of eyes on my back as I proceed to the front of the classroom. I lean back on the desk and images of my first meeting with Stan run rampant through my head, but I swat them away quickly. I can’t have myself thinking of such things when I’m trying to remain composed. I inhale deeply and timidly begin my haphazard speech.

“Hello. I’m Kyle Broflovski, and I’m from London. I was a day student at my last school, which was a busy co-ed institution in the city, so this is a bit of an unfamiliar environment for me. I came here for… a change of scenery. My father is a lawyer and my parents would like me to follow in his footsteps, but to be honest I’m not really sure of what I want to do yet. I just want to be happy, I guess.”

At the back of the classroom, I hear Cartman mutter something about ‘Jew mothers’, earning a stern look from the black boy next to him, sporting short hair and narrowed brown eyes. I try to think of something unusual or interesting about me, but the interesting things are topics I’d rather not mention. I must make a rather dull first impression, but at this point I just want this to be over. _All of it._

“I’m not all that interesting really. I like to read and my favourite subjects are English, Biology, Philosophy and Mathematics.  I’m Jewish and I have a younger brother that just started here as well. He’s a little pain, as all brothers are.”

I get a few chuckles for the comment, and I’m glad I haven’t made too much of a fool of myself yet, by some strange fluke or blessing.

“I’m diabetic and a little anaemic, so I get a bit sick sometimes. Or faint. Or both. It kind of sucks, but I feel obliged to mention it because I passed out once and some guy thought I was dead and broke one of my ribs trying to give me CPR. It wasn’t particularly fun.”

“Wow, that’s interesting,” Miss Ellen murmurs. I’m not exactly buying her enthusiasm. “Why don’t we introduce ourselves so we can help him settle in?”

It’s quite intriguing, actually, to see my classmates. There are a handful of typical bland types, but there seem to be many unusual characters that stand out from the others. I have a feeling that even I wouldn’t stand out here, with my vibrant unruly hair, pale skin and my religious beliefs… and the sexual orientation that contradicts them, might I add.

“Hey, I’m Butters!” Says a cheery blonde, his face the only that seemed genuinely excited to meet me. His innocent smile is infectious, and I find myself smiling in response to his glee.  He has a childish face, gleeful blue eyes and tufts of pale blonde hair.  “I like dance and drama. Welcome Kyle!”

“I’m Clyde.” Drones a ridiculously nasal voice that rivals Craig’s perfected monotone. “I have a colostomy bag and I play the guitar.”

“I-I-I’m Jimmy,” Stutters a short brunette, fiddling at his metal crutches. His smile is slightly lopsided, and he eyes me with curiosity. “I l-like comedy and I’m an Olympic athlete.” I crack a polite smile at that one, and he seems pleased at my amusement.

“I’m Token. I like basketball and other stuff.  Just stuff”

“I’m Craig, and I’m obviously super awesome.”

“I’m Kenny, and I’m obviously more awesome than Craig. ”

Craig flips him off, causing him to get scolded by the teacher. He remains indifferent, flipping her off under the wood of the desk and muttering half-assed insults under his breath.

“I’m Eric, but these douchebags call me Cartman. I like photography and annoying soulless gingers and covetous Jews.” He flashes a dazzling smile, looking unreasonably blasé despite the idiocy spilling from his mouth. I raise an eyebrow at him and he just grins wider, revelling in my frustration.

 

* * *

 

My first lesson is Maths, and I end up stuck between Cartman and the perky blonde from before. The brunette spends the first ten minutes of the lesson flicking balls of paper at the innocent-looking boy, who just rolls his eyes and doodles on his worksheet. We spent half of the lesson in silence until I feel someone tapping roughly on my arm. Oh joy, what an honour.

“Hey Jew! Help me with number three.” Cartman hisses, leaning in toward me and tearing my attention from a particularly challenging equation.

“You’re only on three? You wouldn’t need help if you’d just listened to the instructions.”

“I know, but you can tell me what to do.” Cartman whines, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Why do you think I know how to get it right?”

“Because you’re a Jew. It’s in your nature. Now come on and tell me what to do. I’ll make it worth your while.” His tone becomes promising, and his eyes sparkle darkly, amused at his private thoughts.

“No. You don’t have anything to offer me anyway.”

“I’d like to beg to differ, dear Kahl.” He speaks, a smirk tugging at his lips. His vocal tone is deep and mischievous, and his syrupy voice raises the hairs on my arms, sending subtle shivers down my spine.

“Fuck off, please. Find someone else to irritate.” I retort exasperatedly, trying to conceal the strange way his voice had affected me. He doesn’t seem to notice however, and lets out a frustrated sigh at his failure.

What is up with him? What on earth is he trying to achieve?

“Butters?” He inquires, turning to the blonde at my left.

“S-sorry Eric, Miss Ellen says I can’t let you copy from my work anymore. I could get in real big trouble like last time.” He glances apologetically at the brunette, who just rolls his eyes stubbornly.

Cartman sighs, his nostrils flaring as he grumbles something along the lines of ‘stupid pussy’, turning back to his paper. He fiddles for a moment before looking over at me discreetly, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as he completes the question with ease.

This guy just leaves me with so many questions. Questions I’m beginning to want answers for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. There we go, I hope you liked it. This was more of a quick intro of some of the characters, so it’s probably not that good. We’re going to get to know everyone better over the next few chapters and learn some of their juicy secrets and backstories (and if you have any other ideas for certain characters or you’d love to see a cameo etc. then let me know and I’ll include it as soon as I can). 
> 
> Next time things only get stranger for Kyle – He overhears a confusing interaction that leaves him wondering how the seemingly indifferent Craig really feels about his mysterious neurotic classmate, and an odd conversation leaves him even more confused and intrigued about his new roommate (and his unclear intentions). Either way, the attractive brunette wants something, and Kyle is determined to find out what it is.   
> Thank you all so much for reading. I can’t say how grateful I am for every wonderful person that reviews and follows, you inspire me with your kindness. I hope you enjoyed and I’ll hopefully have chapter 7 posted next week xx  
> \- NocturnalLament


	7. Tied by Your Guitar Strings

 

**A.N: I'm so ridiculously sorry about how late this is! I've been insanely busy and I'm ill again, so I've been struggling to get this done. It's been a while since the last chapter so I hope this makes up for it. It somehow ended up being about twice as long as the others, so I hope it flows well. I'm sorry if it's not as good as I hoped it would be, my rereading skills are greatly reduced when I'm under a sea of used tissues.**

**I hope you enjoy reading, _Homophobic language warning ahead._**  

* * *

 

 

God damn it, I'm such a moron. If my mother was here now she would kill me, no doubt about it. The caretakers would be picking pieces of my pulverised brain from in between the floorboards for weeks.

I've been doing alright; I'd honestly survived this frightful place quite well in the last week. Except for the odd petty arguments and bashing of heads with my vexatious roommate, I was doing okay. No slip ups or catastrophes, despite my penchant for making stupid mistakes.

So naturally, I managed to forget to take my insulin. Coupled with the stress of an unfamiliar setting and the sudden change in my blood sugar levels, I feel awful.

Oh joy, how fantastic.

It started this morning; it was just another stupid conflict over something inconsequential that escalated into a heated debate. I can't even remember what had started the whole thing, I was so preoccupied with my frustration that the details evade me now. Some harsh words were exchanged, small objects were thrown. He hit me with one of his down pillows, causing several feathers to flutter onto my uniform and into my unruly auburn hair. I called him a dick and he just chuckled scornfully, tauntingly suggesting that I was 'the type that knows one when he sees one'. I shot him a menacing look, the effects of my glare lessened by the fact I looked like a literal bird's nest - my vibrant fiery curls were tangled in a mess of hair and dainty feathers. Smiling sarcastically, I lashed out without thinking, telling him that I'm getting tired of his hypocritical gay quips.

I'd half expected him to get angry, or to throw something at me, _some_  form of retaliation. But he'd just sat, smirking amusedly with one eyebrow raised, his eyes challenging - a strange dark look in his swirling chestnut irises.

He eyed me for several moments, observing my frozen body with a strange expression I couldn't place. He'd seemed almost like a sly predator evaluating his prey, and his fixated gaze had seemingly burnt holes in my skin.

The sensation of him watching me had caused my skin to heat inexplicably, the scorching blood staining my cheeks a dreadful scarlet shade. His fixed stare disturbed me, causing me to nervously shift under the heavy weight of his gaze, the strange atmosphere gnawing away at my nerves.

_Is he trying to make me uncomfortable? How can he examine me so intently, yet seem so wrapped up in his own private thoughts?_

_Why does he unnerve me, and look so strangely alluring whilst doing it?_

"Whatever, Jew." He muttered dismissively, suddenly breaking his gaze. "Suck my balls."

And just like that, the odd spell was broken. His flippant words had dispelled the curious atmosphere, and it was almost as if the strange moment had never occurred. He lay back down on his messy bed, pushing the pile of clothes at his feet onto the disordered floor as I watched incredulously, trying to absorb what he'd said. He picked at his cuticles as he watched the ceiling, appearing rather confused himself by the odd exchange.

"Oh, very mature. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I retort, the acidity of my voice lessened slightly by my bewilderment. Why can he make the hairs on the back of my neck stand and my nerves tingle from something as simplistic as a gaze? I expected him to be discouraged by my rebuttal, but he just shot me a devious smile – his eyes sparkling with excitement over some unknown prospect.

"You bet I would."

_…what?_

I don't get his sense of humour. He's probably just trying to upset me, get under my skin as always. I debated yelling at him; telling him that he'd gone too far, but that wouldn't have gotten us anywhere. I'd shot him a glare, but my eagerness to retaliate was overpowered by my irritation over his blatant stupidity. I just rolled my eyes and left, deciding to devote my energy to eating breakfast rather than trying to understand what  _on earth_  was going through that asshole's head. It's wasn't worth the effort, surely.

"That's nice, I  _love_  hearing about your balls,  _really._ I'm going to get breakfast."

As I left, I felt his eyes on my back once more – he seemed stunned into silence by my uncharacteristic display of maturity and self-restraint.

I hadn't realised I'd forgotten my injection until second period, when I'd suddenly felt faint and lethargic. In my rush to leave I'd completely forgotten to grab my insulin kit! The typical warning signs were there, and once I bent over to retrieve my dog-eared copy of  _The Tempest,_ my lousy body threatened to give way as I swayed dangerously. Noticing my disorientation, my philosophy teacher said I should head to the medical office, and instructed a short brunette boy to escort me. I quickly declined the offer, unwilling to make the boy hobble across campus on his crutches (in retrospect, I can't quite recall the boy's name…  _Timmy?)._

The situation was embarrassing enough already, I didn't need someone playing babysitter for me – especially one that would struggle to make the trip.

"I'm fine. It's not that far." I lied.

I gladly stumbled into the hallway, immediately relieved to have left the confines of the stuffy classroom. Feeling somewhat listless, I walk at a reduced place, close to the corridor walls in case I lost my balance.

It's been a while since I'd gotten this bad, and I can't help but curse myself for my poorly timed stupidity. I'm so preoccupied by my own self-depreciating thoughts that it takes me a few minutes to realize I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere. I survey my surroundings, but it's clear I'm in completely unfamiliar territory.

"Shit," I exasperatedly mutter under my breath. " _Every single time!_  I need to get a hold of myself."

I pull out the campus map that I'd hastily shoved into my blazer pocket, straightening out the crumpled paper before studying it intently, trying to determine my location. I lean against a nearby doorframe, eager to find somewhere recognizable. I'm so absorbed in my attempts to locate myself that an unexpected sound makes me jump out of my skin.

**_"It's your own fault, you know."_ **

I'm startled at the sudden voice, taunting and full of malice. I assume that his words are directed at me, and my stomach churns at the prospect of making an enemy so soon after arriving here. I consider how to react, and just before I can question the mystery man's motives I hear another voice – a familiar one this time – from the other side of the door.

"It's none of your business what I do. You don't even understand it, so how do you think you can just come up and say that?"

"Easily. What you're doing is  _sick,_ that's all the justification we need. " Speaks out a third voice, the vicious tone setting me on edge.

"It's pathetic," Spits the first man. "You can't seriously give a shit about him, do you? He's just some spastic kid. Playing this stupid game with him is going to cost you our friendship; it's not remotely worth it."

"I hardly value your friendship. Just look at the way your acting! You must be crazy to think I'd give a fuck."

"Oh, you will care. You know how much influence we have over the others. We could make this place a  _living hell_ for you and your little  _boyfriend_."

Bile rises in my throat, and I will my legs to  _move_ , to just run away from here – but I stand shocked as I hear the heated conversation. I can't help but be simultaneously curious and disturbed, and I scold myself for not leaving right here and now. It's not my business, and yet I can relate so much that I'm sickened by the callous males' words. Each bladed word feels like a kick to the gut, a vocalization of my deep-seated insecurities.

"You're a disgusting little fag, that's all you are and all you'll ever be. But  _him?_ What could you possibly see in that kid? Just leave him the fuck alone. I saw you looking at him today, it makes my skin crawl. It's not  _natural._ Just dump the little shit and come back to us, the little freak isn't worth screwing yourself over for."

"Don't you  _dare_  tell me what to do! I don't give two shits about what you think, but it's up to  _me_  how I feel and how I act. Don't tell me what I want, I know what I'll choose and nothing you say will change that. He is worth  _every_  sacrifice," Growls the younger man, biting back with a fire of his own. "I don't care what you do to me; just leave him out of it. I swear if  _you even think_  about touching him I _will_ kill you."

"Oh, how scary. I tremble in fear. What the hell are you going to do to me,  _faggot?"_

 _"_ I'll break your fucking teeth in. Don't try me, Trent. You know I'm not bluffing."

"Yeah right," quips the third voice, "You wouldn't do that, not anymore. You know as well as we do that if you got expelled you'd never see him again,  _Tucker_."

And then I realise who the voice belongs to. And I wish I could run to his defence, perhaps even kick their pathetic asses, but I need to be realistic. This isn't a movie, some half-hearted story printed on wood pulp. This is real life, not some idyllic fantasy.

So I run. I feel like an awful person for it, but I just want to get away.

The rapid speed makes me feel rather sickly, and my knees tremor under my weight. I sprint until I find a recognisable corridor, collapsing against a wall to regain some of my strength. I breathe deeply, trying to calm the speeding heart that seemingly convulses in my chest. What on earth was that? I can't help but worry that he is in deep trouble. Those men hardly seemed to be joking.

Most of all I'm just bewildered. I'm not stupid, I know it happens, but I'd never  _truly_  experienced homophobia in real life. Not with such legitimate cruelty, so much palpable hate. What if they knew I heard them? Would they turn their unwelcome spitefulness to me? It's an incredibly selfish thought given the circumstance, but a distressing one regardless.

In a show of weakness, my instinct of self-preservation had won over my concern for the wellbeing of a fellow student. I feel a twinge of guilt as I consider the situation. Should I alert an authority figure? It could cause so many complications. I know what I should probably do; I'm just not sure how to do it. I'm not even sure if I really understood what they were talking about, or who he could have valued so deeply that he would defend him so vehemently.

I'm going to have to ask Craig about this myself.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey, pass the ketchup. Come on Kahl, don't hog it all."

"I'm not even using it. Why would I ruin a decent steak with cheap processed rubbish?" I roll my eyes at is dumbfounded look, seemingly taken aback by my disagreement. "I'm not your slave; you can easily reach from there."

The brunette grumbles, sighing melodramatically. "I don't care. Don't try to indoctrinate me with your hippie crap. It's a bloody delicious combination no matter what you say."

He reaches across the table, lifting himself out of his seat so he can claim his prize. He leans over my plate, his tie almost landing in my dinner as he tries to retrieve the bottle. His sudden proximity makes my breath hitch, and I get a lungful of his strange scent. He's wearing a new cologne today, one I've never noticed him using before.

I have to admit it suits him; the odour is complex and somewhat musky, unusual and rather attractive in a unique way. How very fitting to his character…

"Do you really need to get so close?" I question, my voice accidentally rising in pitch, startled by his proximity. "I'm trying to eat here."

"Whatever, you should have passed it to me. Don't look so offended, I know you can't get enough of my wonderful hot body."

I hear cutlery clatter onto the table as Clyde begins to choke, gasping around the food lodged in his throat as Kenny roars in laughter, his whole body shaking with his amusement. My cheeks burn a deep crimson, and I raise my hand to my face in an attempt to conceal the unwelcome blush that burns across my skin.

"Oh God!" Chuckles Kenny, grinning widely at the hilarity of the arrogant statement. "You wish, Cartman! I think anyone would be hard pressed to find you hot, even if you weren't so fat. Good one, real funny."

"Piss off Kenny." Cartman growls, angrily shoving a large forkful of beef into his mouth. He narrows his eyes at the blonde, chewing irately.

I hardly agree with Kenny's observations, but I'm not exactly eager to voice my opinions.  _That's_  hardly something I want out on the table, and besides, I'm not sure how much more inflation Cartman's ego can take.

I hear approaching footsteps, and we look up from our conversations to see Craig sauntering in as if he hadn't had a care in the world. I'm relieved to see him again, and he appears to be perfectly fine. Thank god he's okay.

"Where've you been dude?" Kenny inquires, grinning over at the most recent addition to our table as he vocalises his thoughts. "You should've turned up sooner; it's hardly easy to stop Cartman from stealing your food."

I hear Cartman kick Kenny's legs under the table, hitting him dead in the shins and earning an aggravated yelp from the disgruntled blonde.

"Scrooge's been lecturing me again, wouldn't shut up for ages. Gave my physics teacher the finger and she blew her top, and it was hardly even my fault –the bitch totally deserved it. Gave me _another_  fucking detention."

"Good one man," Clyde nods appreciatively. "I hate her. She gave me a C on my autumn term project because she hated the font. Apparently Star Wars has nothing to do with proton-proton chains, but it's all space stuff right?"

"I-I'm surprised she even cared, most p-people are just used to… used to it by now," Stutters Jimmy, frowning at Craig's predicament. "A detention j-jus' for that? You always flip her off."

"Who even cares?" Interjects Cartman, resting his chin on his fist in a show of embellished apathy. "Something must have crawled up her arse and died. Nothing new... Are you going to eat that?"

He looks at me pointedly, gesturing at my pudding with his fork. I huff in frustration, but push the dish in his direction anyway. I have no idea how much sugar is in it and I have no desire to find out.

"Nice." He murmurs, running his tongue slowly over his slightly chapped lips in appreciation. He brings a spoonful into his mouth as the others resume their petty exchange, yet my focus stays on the brunette's movements. I'm unwittingly captivated as he brings the silver utensil to his mouth with no hesitation, savouring the morsel of dessert whilst melodramatically running his tongue across the metal, cleansing every trace from the glinting surface.

He cuts another portion with the side of the spoon, scooping it into his waiting mouth. Once again, his tongue darts from between his parted lips to caress the spoon, the wet muscle firm against the metal as it runs over each curve and crevice, long after every trace of the desert had been licked up. His eyes dart upwards to meet mine, and he smirks at the red tinge that had spread across my features.

"Whatever is the matter, _Kahl?"_  He questions, his sing-song tone tainted with exaggerated innocence. "This is  _so very_  yummy, I can't help but enjoy it. It tastes  _so good."_

He sighs in mock ecstasy, devouring another bite while keeping his eyes trained intently on my expression. I can't look away from the odd display and he revels in this fact, drawing out a lengthy groan that is bordering on sensual.  _Bad thoughts. Bad thoughts._  I bite the inside of my lip to try and ground myself, tearing my eyes from his disturbing actions. He won the game and he knows it, genuine grin lighting up his features.

"I hate you, you know." I grumble, averting my gaze as I begin to pick at my half-finished side-salad, somewhat amused at the futility of my own statement.

 

* * *

 

 

I hesitated before knocking, hand hovering momentarily over the wood. I'd yet to step foot in the room, but I've heard enough of its occupants to be certain it was the right door. Honestly, my hesitance is more based on my lack of faith in myself, my uncertainty of what to say.

I realise that my concern is probably just going to worsen the situation – consideration is hardly needed. I should just speak what comes to mind, but I'm afraid of the reaction I'll get. I doubt that he wants anyone to know, especially some new kid that he doesn't even know.

After a few moments of helpless pondering, I decide to knock. The rattle of my fist was rather quiet, and I was uncertain whether the occupants would be able to hear me over the steady beat of their music.

As I go to knock once more, I'm startled by an unexpected voice calling from the other side of the walls.

"Come in!"

I push on the wood, and it swings with ease to reveal Kenny sprawled on an unmade bed; tapping his foot absently to the music as he intently studies the Playboy dangling from his fingers. His room is even messier than ours, and I momentarily wonder whether a bomb had been dropped. He looks up, watching me as I survey the disarray, considering if it was worth entering the room and risking injury.

"Hey man, what's up?"

"I was looking for Craig," I reply, scouring the room for any signs of its other occupant. There is a vague possibility he could have been caught in some kind of laundry avalanche, and is stuck beneath one of the mountains of clothes, but I wouldn't bet on it. "Do you know where he is?"

"Why him? Do you need help with some super-secret dude-on-dude stuff?" Kenny chuckles to himself, tearing his eyes away from his dog-eared magazine. "I wouldn't bother trying to find him; he's with Tweek - that blonde kid – so he's probably busy right now. I wouldn't count on him coming back any time soon. What did you need?"

"Oh no, it's fine," I dismiss his concerned tone with a wave of my hand. "It wasn't too important."

"Cartman isn't giving you trouble is he?"

"No, I can deal with him…" I turn to leave him be, when a thought hits me. "Actually, something he said a few days ago has been bugging me. You're both here on a scholarship, right? Do you know if he's ever gotten in trouble with the law? He said that he had partial funding from a young offenders rehabilitation scheme. I'm not sure what to think."

"He seriously told you that?" Kenny snorts, an amused grin tugging on his lips. "Don't listen to him, he's totally bullshitting. I'd tell you what it's really for but I'm afraid he'd shoot me if I did. Look, just ask him if you really want to know, he'll probably give in eventually…" He looks around him, as if ensuring the coast was clear. "Don't _ever_  tell him I told you this, but he's not as awful as he seems. He's afraid of his weaknesses, so he hides his vulnerabilities behind a façade of spite. He might play the hateful tough guy but once he gets to know you he won't be that bad, trust me on this one."

"Yeah right, he'd have my liver on a platter if he could."

 

* * *

 

 

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The stocky brunette lies on his back, legs dangling over the side of his mattress as he hums an unfamiliar tune under his breath. He catches a small red ball in his right fist, launching it upwards again so it collides with the ceiling.

 _Thud_.

"Will you cut that out!?" I snap, tempted to throw my book at him. "I'm trying to read."

"Why are you even reading that crap? Surely you could find something better to do."

"Like what? Throwing a ball at the ceiling?"

"The fact it irritates you makes it worth every second," Cartman replies gladly. "I don't get why you'd want to read that hippie rubbish. Romance novels are for chicks."

"It's a literary masterpiece!" I cry, dumbfounded at his stupidity. "You haven't even read it. Ever since our English lit teacher handed them out I haven't even seen you touch your copy once. If you don't read it you can't even do the coursework."

"Whatever, Romeo and Juliet is for fags anyway."

"How could you say that? You're the one with an underwear catalogue in his drawer. Like, half of your sketches are of naked guys."

"Hey," he groans. "That's what you're supposed to do. It's symbolic! I'm not very good at drawing clothes and nudes are supposed to be all  _artistic_  and shit."

" _Sure,"_ I reply, voice patronisingly sarcastic. "Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the day."

"Douchebag hypocrite," he growls, shooting me an angry look before tossing his ball in my direction. "I'm going to have a shower."

I lie back on my pillows and trace the intricate patterns on the ceiling with my eyes. My eyelids eventually become heavy, and I unwittingly melt into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

  

 

I open my eyes to a dark room, feeling disorientated and drowsy. I'm confused for a moment, but I begin to scold myself when I realized I must have fallen asleep.

"Kyle?" Queries a distant voice, surprisingly free of cruelty. "Are you awake yet?"

I close my eyes tightly in defiance; I'm not ready to deal with this asshole again. He takes my silence as confirmation that I'm asleep, and I hear movement from across the room – the banging on wooden surfaces, the movement of boxes and the popping open of clasps. I'm intrigued greatly by these sounds, but I don't dare to open my eyes and watch. Is he going to draw on my face? Take disturbing pictured in my sleep? In my quick fumble through his drawers in search of socks I had come across a cheap album book of blackmail material, filled with compromising images of the innocent Butters in his sleep (amongst others). Does he have similar ambitions for me? Will he lather me with makeup or draw penises on my face? The thought causes an involuntary shudder. Surely not.

I anticipate the wet tip of a permanent marker or bristles of a makeup brush, but my suspicions are dispelled when I hear the gentle reverberation of guitar strings.

He plucks each string individually at first, allowing it to ring throughout the room before adjusting it slightly, turning the keys and distorting the pitch of the note until it reaches his desired tuning. He adjusts each note one at a time, correcting the guitars tuning from memory. He strums lightly, alternating between several chords whilst trying to keep the volume low, apparently afraid to wake me. I don't recognise the gentle tune, but I'm barely able to identify that his song is in a minor key. My musical knowledge is unfortunately limited to a few months of piano lessons when I was twelve, so once he begins to tunefully pluck at the strings I'm taken aback by the complexity of his odd melody. The halcyon nature of the beautiful composition seems like such a stark contrast to his character, contradictory to his malicious disposition. His tune is so sweet, and it resonates as if it was the embodiment of his own soul, his own emotion. I consider readjusting my position to watch him, but this thought is stopped in its tracks as he opens his lips and begins to sing.

His dulcet voice shocks me, causing the hairs on the back of my arms to stand on end. If the guitar was tuneful, his tender voice is a thousand times more so. His exquisite melody dances through the room as if it had a life of its own, raw with emotion and passion so rousing that it seems almost palpable in the air. I'm so absorbed by this divine song that I barely notice his words, yet his tune itself conveys such feeling that it tells a story of its own. All of his joy, all of his spirit is directed into his song, sharing the emotions I'd assumed that he couldn't even grasp, yet alone convey so compellingly.

It's so cruel, really, that such a devil could possess the beguiling voice of an angel. The bittersweet irony brings a distant smile to my lips, as his soothing melody brings me closer to the brink of unconsciousness. I slip into a gentle slumber, yet his lullaby continues to ring in my ears, even in the realm of sleep.

That night I dream. I dream of ethereal angels wearing masks of poignant black, their delicate feathers stained by viscous tar.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: Thank you so much for reading as always, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I was never a big Creek fan, but starting to write it into the story I've found that the ship is growing on me. I loved writing Craig being defensive of Tweek, it's so adorable. I have a NSFW warning for either the next chapter or the one after it, so it’s not long now until things start to pick up a bit in terms of slash, finally.  
> Lots of love for all of the wonderful people that review and follow, all of my readers are a big source of inspiration - especially when I'm under the weather. Have an awesome day, everyone.  
> \- NocturnalLament


	8. Games (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: whoa, okay. Major NSFW warning ahead! This chapter is relatively short compared to the last one but I find smut quite draining to write. It had to happen eventually, but now the smut-train is in full swing. This chapter is mostly just shameless filth, so if that isn't your thing than you can just 'pass the blunt to the nigga on your left'. The events in this chapter will have quite serious ramifications for our poor Kyle in the future, but if this isn't the type of thing that floats your boat the story still will make total sense if you don't read it.
> 
> I have to admit, I'm a bit worried about this chapter, so let me know if it works or not. I hope you enjoy, and have an awesome day.

* * *

From a coincidental event, an unlikely routine had been born – each night I would retreat to our room shortly before my roommate did, feigning sleep on his arrival. Ever since that night five days ago, I had eagerly waited to hear his bewitching melodies, listening closely as he would unknowingly indulge me. I'd never had much musical ability, but hearing the sincerity and elegance of his voice seemed to cause strange emotions to swell in my chest. His tunes filled me with an odd sense of contentment, a joy that I had been deprived of since everything had started to go wrong all those months ago.

I secretly feel somewhat thankful toward him, as his delicate tunes gave me a sense of security like nothing else, completely eradicating the nightmares that had plagued my mind since  _the incident._  Images of the blue-hatted boy had been exchanged for soothing clouds and choirs of angels; a continuation of his heavenly song. I craved this moment, and the strange unspoken connection that always seemed to occur despite the disguise of sleep. My body was still, my eyes were closed, but each note seemed to communicate directly with my soul.

I expected this night to be like the others, a private little concert for my secret enjoyment. The evening was long gone, and with it left the bustle of lively students and the excitement of after-dinner conversations. The full moon hung high above the horizon, illuminating the countryside with its ethereal glow. The dorm room was surprisingly light, with the large face of the moon casting shimmering streams of crepuscular light through the uncovered window. The room was highlighted in shades of silver, and from my concealed glances I could clearly decipher Cartman's lethargic form reclined on his bed, his body paled by the eerie glow of night. He hummed a familiar tune under his breath, a sweet song that I couldn't quite place. I briefly considered giving upon the whole idea and trying to focus on sleep, but he suddenly shifted his weight and pulled himself upright, and I was intrigued by his restlessness. I heard the movement and I closed my eyes tightly, not wanting to indicate my consciousness as I hear his approaching footsteps. I felt a hand on my shoulder then, gentle fingers clutching the clothed flesh before tightening his grip, shaking me slightly to try and rouse me from my sleep. His hands felt quite large compared to my meagre frame, and the surprising warmth of his touch through the thin fabric of my nightshirt caused my heart to lurch in my chest inexplicably. It had been so long since I had been touched so purposefully, with such an unanticipated respect. His uncharacteristic gentleness was somewhat unnerving, by my body's odd reaction to the inconsequential gesture was even more baffling in itself.

He called my name quietly, but after I failed to respond he sighed in relief. I expected him to retrieve his guitar as usual, but instead I felt reluctant fingers brush lightly across my temple, their touch so gentle that they seemingly ghost across my skin. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, breath hitching in response to the sudden contact. His fingers tugged lightly on a wayward lock of hair, toying momentarily with the flaming curl before tucking it behind my ear almost tenderly.

As suddenly as the contact began, he'd retreated. A million questions raced through my mind, completely dumbfounded by his strange actions and unclear motives.

His bedframe shifted audibly as he laid down, lounging once again on his sloppily arranged blankets. I hear the rustle of fabric, succeeded by the quiet thud of material hitting the floor. Most of the time, I would fall asleep before he did – Cartman had always come up after me when it came to the evenings. Recently, his sweet melodies had lulled me into blissful sleep before I even had the chance to hear him finish his tunes, but I'd barely even notice as I'd fade into unconsciousness. However, each morning, I'd awoken to see his dishevelled chestnut hair and his crumpled clothes, dressed in a faded Rammstein band shirt and an old pair of khaki boxer shorts. He seemed to have bypassed his usual attire tonight for some reason, with his makeshift pyjamas left draped over the side of our dresser. I warily open my eyes, discreetly glancing in his direction. My breath catches in my throat and my face heats suddenly, blood rushing to my cheeks at the sight.

He lies on his back, slightly propped up by several pillows and his head against the headboard, silently watching the ceiling. His shirt has been discarded on the floor, and his torso is completely bare. In my attempts to respect his modesty (such a concept was ridiculous when it came to this man, but it was the principle of the thing) I had very few chances to see him unclothed, which – judging by the way my cock stirred in my shorts – seemed to have been the preferable option to avoid unwanted thoughts.

Fully clothed, it is easy to attribute all of his bulk to fat, but once exposed there was clear muscle definition in his broad chest. The muscle was taught under the skin of his strong arms, and his thick torso would rise and fall steadily with the rhythm of his slow breathing. He's not exactly Hercules, but his surprisingly toned physique was shamefully enticing – appealing directly to my tastes. His stocky shoulders were broad and incredibly masculine, almost an imitation of those in my own late-night fantasies. Damn, how the mere sight of them stirred something dreadful deep inside of me! I drew my tongue across my dry lips subconsciously, willing to dig my fingernails into the ample flesh, to savour the feeling of them meaty and powerful beneath my hands. I can't help but envision it then, despite my better judgement. The thought of those hefty muscles clenching with his every movement, rippling as he grinds against me, flooded my mind without warning. The images set my face on fire, but I couldn't bring myself to will them away. In the time since Stan left me, I'd been left to my own devices… and I'd been so wrapped in sorrow and self-pity that I'd barely even indulged my body's needs. His trousers were slightly askew, drooping slightly to reveal a tantalising teaser of the creamy skin underneath his waistband. I only just began to realise how long it had been when I was driven crazy merely by the small slither of skin visible on his hip. God, how I wanted to touch the supple flesh, to slide my hands below the confines of his waistband.

He lifted his fingers, absently trailing his digits across his chest in a delicate pattern. The hand lingered momentarily, somewhat indecisive, before dipping down to his navel and following the sparse trail of hairs down to the fabric of his trousers. I contemplated turning away - unsure whether he intended to undress – but his hand stopped at his zipper, popping open the button before slowly dragging down the zip, almost as is to tease me with the prospect of what lies beyond his unfastened fly.

I lay transfixed by his movements, as he wiggled slightly so that his trousers fell down to reveal his elasticated trunks. I'm rendered speechless, unable to tear my eyes away from his wayward hand as it dipped down to the enticing bulge of his crotch, roughly caressing himself over his underwear. The thin fabric was tented slightly, stretching over the prominent form of his hardening cock. His breath shuddered quietly at the stimulation, but in the dead silence of the room the sound rang loud and clear as he palmed at himself, unintentionally drawing my eye.

After squeezing himself half-heartedly for several minutes, allowing himself to harden further, his hand dipped into the inviting material, lifting his hips slightly to tug them down far enough to fully reveal himself.

_Fuck._ His solid length sprung from the confines of the fabric, thick and exposed in the bitter air. His size was so much larger than I'd envisioned, its respectable length overshadowed by his impressive girth, veins prominent and skin sweat-slicked in his palm. He stroked himself gingerly at first, adjusting to the sensations before increasing his pace, kneading the rigid flesh from base to tip.

He held himself skilfully, one hand massaging the base while the other ran along the length with leisurely strokes. He almost seemed to be presenting himself, rubbing his hands over his sizeable cock with the practiced ease of a porn star. It's not usually a good thing to compare someone to, but in this situation it almost feels like a complement.

I hadn't realized I'd been biting the insides of my cheeks until blood washed over my tongue, the hot saline liquid oozing from ruptured capillaries. My self-control began to waiver, and before I could decide otherwise my hand was in my pyjamas, desperate to quell the vicious hunger of my own ' _growing problem'_. The flesh was already completely rigid, straining desperately against the plaid fabric of my trousers. After neglecting my own needs for so long, the erotic sight was more than enough to drive me crazy. I was tempted to just let loose, but any vigorous movements would probably have caught his attention.

A wave of relief hit me as I'd wrapped my hands around by hardness, pulsing against my fingers as I rub myself earnestly. At first, my pace was torturously slow, my cock swelling in the heat of my hand with each movement, but I was unable to fully restrain myself as I increased my speed, revelling in the sensation of my own grip.

I freeze when I hear a gasp, and I dread for a moment that I'd been spotted. I bit my lip violently, startled until Cartman lets out another low, shivery moan, clear that it was just a sound of pleasure. I kept my teeth buried to prevent myself from answering with a sigh of my own, instead trying to focus on the movements of his hand. The rusty taste seemed to amplify the pleasure, the raw taste of my own blood painfully fitting with the crude, animalistic nature the whole situation.

His sounds were static in the air, live and electric between us, sending subtle shocks across my skin. Each heavy breath stirred something deep and primal, something powerful and riveting that had lain dormant within me for much too long. I watched him intently, entranced by his movements as a bead of moisture formed at his head, sliding tantalizingly across his rigid, burning skin. The precome begins to slick up his shaft, acting as a natural lubricant that helps as he speeds his motions further. I felt compelled to lick up the fluid, to savour his natural musk as I slicken up his fat cock with my saliva. I imagined him sliding deep inside of me, rubbing me deliciously raw in all the right places. It'd been so long since I'd been truly fucked, and if the circumstances were and different I'd probably try to imitate it with my fingers, desperate for a taste of that incomparable pleasure. Instead, I settled for my grip. Stan had been a reasonable size, but  _Cartman…_ God, the thought of that huge girth stretching me out, filling me up so fully, sends tremors across my skin.

Pleasure jolts through my spine as Cartman moans loudly, voice lewd and desperate. His wanton vocalizations were so unbearably sexy, and as he begins to gasp more frequently as his hand speeds up to a blur. He lifted his hips in rapture, fucking his hand as he moaned frantically. I sped my hand also, imagining him fucking me deeper, faster with his hot cock, wishing to feel his hands on my neglected body. I can tell from his sounds he was on the verge of coming, and the thought of his orgasm sent electricity pulsing through every nerve in my body. A familiar heat began to build within the pit of my stomach, and before long my free hand flew to my mouth. I bit hard on my knuckles, trying to prevent myself from crying out in rapture as the sensations threatened to overwhelm me.

I heard a loud groan as Cartman hit his release, and the erotic sound pushed me over the edge as I clenched down with my jaw. I came hard, hot and messy into the palm of my hand, shivering violently as the powerful orgasm sent aftershocks throughout my body.

I lay for several moments, completely spent as I waited for my breathing patterns to return to normal. Unfortunately, with the afterglow came the burdens of common sense and reasoning, and I began to feel sick to my stomach.  _What had I just DONE?_ I felt like some kind of voyeur, and despite how hot it had been at the time, I can't help but wonder how Cartman would've felt about it all. I raised my other hand, disgusted by the drying substance on my palm - evidence of my misdeeds.

I'd been so absorbed it self-disgust that I'd completely lost track of everything else, but I was bought back down to earth as a box of tissues landed on my duvet.

What? Why would he throw them this far? I paled as I began to realize he'd handed them to me intentionally.

He couldn't have, surely. There was no way he would've noticed me…. I grabbed a tissue reluctantly, being certain not to make a sound to rouse Cartman's suspicions. It was seemingly a lost cause however, as he addressed me without an ounce of concern in his voice. My stomach seems to drop, as I realize the implications of what this means.  _Oh God no._

"Goodnight, Jewboy." He smirks, knowing full well he'd won his little game. "Sleep well."

Unfortunately for Kyle, however, the games were just beginning.

 

* * *

 

**A.N: I hope I didn't go overboard there...**

**That should be your fair share of filth for now, because things are only just starting to get weird for Kyle. I'm sorry if anyone was hoping for more Creek, but we'll be hearing from them again very soon.**

**Thank you so much for reading, and I hope this came out okay. The stuff I usually write gets a bit filthier than this (oh the shame!) so I've never actually written a masturbation scene before. If you don't care much for it than don't worry, we're back to tastefulness and storyline next chapter.**

**A huge shoutout to everyone that has reviewed/commented so far, you are all so supremely awesome that I have no idea how to thank you all. Reading your opinions literally makes my day, as I am indeed that pathetic.**

**Lots of love and sunshine (and random penises),**

**\- NocturnalLament**


	9. Distractions

**A.N: Hey everyone, another chapter here. Gets a little naughty at the end but not really enough to warrant a proper warning, I'm afraid. I've been quite busy so it might not be an amazing chapter, but things are only going to get more** **confusing** **for poor Kyle from here onwards.**

* * *

"…Yeah, well, it jus' ain't the same. They can't ground me anymore, but I still miss them. They jus' wanted what was best for me, and that's why…"

"…Thought it was another joke. This time they'll bring them for sure…"

"…Don't even know. Didn't turn up last time, even though she promised she would. She's probably just too busy with her new  _boyfriend_ …"

The voices seem to fade in and out, drowned out by the pulsing headache that is seemingly splitting my temples. I mean to listen to their meaningless conversations as it's impolite to do otherwise, but my etiquette is suffering on behalf of my preoccupation. Between my distress over the events of the previous night and the growing pressure in my skull, I must seem rather distant, although I'm beyond caring at this point.

"…Don't really care much either way," My eyes narrow as I hear Cartman speak, his voice stirring troublesome memories. "… She sends me parcels and shit, and she calls me every now again, so it doesn't make that much difference. I'm fine on my own."

The dog-eared photographs above his bed beg to differ - much handled prints of a beautiful woman with affectionate eyes. It's great to call him out on his lies, but I hold my tongue in an unusual display of self-restraint. I don't want to get into a spar with him; I just don't have the energy. Every glance she shoots in my direction causes me to blush fiercely, diverting my eyes to try and conceal the shame/embarrassment/desire concoction I fear is lurking within them.  _Damn_  his lack of modesty, his crafty games.  _Damn it all to hell._

He shoots a playful smirk in my direction, almost as if he was aware of my thought processes. He's getting to me and he knows it. Hell, he  _rejoices_  in it, which makes the frustration all the worse.

"Will  _your_  parents be visiting,  _Kahl?"_ He inquires, his voice dripping with false innocence. "I'm sure they'll be interested in your  _extracurricular activities_ , huh?"

That bastard! His condescending tone makes me want to hit him right in his taunting face. I'm tempted just to start yelling at him right then and there, but I know that would just spur him on even more. Well, two can play at this game. I'm not going to let him have this upper hand, and giving him too much of an advantage is like signing my own execution warrant. I think of a quick-fire response, and it's hardly ingenious but at least I've said something. It's the principle of the matter that counts, and I need to show him I'm not afraid to stand on my own two feet.

"Sure. What will you tell your mother? I'm sure you have a greater appreciation for such things than I do. I'm sure you only need simplistic gratification from such things to compensate for your  _shortcomings in other areas."_  I snap, pleased to get a jab in. He mustn't have expected such boldness from me, as his eyebrows rise incredulously before settling once more, a pleased smile crossing his face. My retort is a challenge, and he'd gladly rise to the provocation. I'm not a victim, but an opponent on equal footing - this concept seems to please him greatly.

"Hey, that's not nice Kyle! Don't mock other people's electives. I know you haven't picked yours yet but everyone takes them very seriously," Butters cries, misinterpreting our exchange completely. "You shouldn't mock people for what they love; it could upset someone real badly! Eric's music is really important to him, and it makes him happy."

The side of my lips curl upwards at that, and I shoot him a mocking glance. Music? I'm hardly surprised; it's not as if he doesn't have the skill for it, but I'd never have thought he'd willingly be involved in something he'd probably deem so emasculating. I'd assumed he'd dismiss the idea of playing in front of others because he'd view it as  _'stupid hippie pussy crap',_ but this seems to have been a miscalculation on my part.

"God Butters!" He sighs, rubbing his forehead irately with his fingers, "Shut up, nobody cares about what I do in my spare time. At least I don't dance like you do. That's such a chick thing that you'll probably start having periods and worshipping Justin Timberlake before we know it!"

Butters seems discouraged by his words, so I shoot him a sympathetic look.

"Don't mock him, fatboy. You couldn't dance if you tried. He was in the national finals; I'd like to see you beat that." Clyde remarks offhandedly, jumping on the opportunity to mock Cartman's stupidity.

"Whatever Clyde, you couldn't dance either. Your shit-bag would tear and you'd get your nasty freak juices everywhere."

I cringe at the mental image as Craig flips Cartman off in retaliation, not looking up from whatever he's writing. Clyde thankfully seems unaffected, picking the fat off of his bacon before returning it to his sandwich.

"What are you thinkin' about taking, Kyle?" Butters asks cheerily, unfazed by the nasty look Cartman was giving him. "Everyone needs to have their choice selected after a few weeks of being here, so you've gotta' tell them what you want to do. What stuff did you enjoy doing back in London? You can do pretty much anything you like, there's lots of choices."

I consider this for a moment, uncertain of how to respond. Since my arrival I've only briefly considered my options, and I still have no idea what I want to choose. My parents would naturally be inclined toward something relevant to law, but I honestly don't care what they think about my career choices anymore. I'm not going to sacrifice my happiness just so my mother can boast about her successful lawyer son to all of her friends!

To be completely honest, I'm not really sure what I want to do with my life. I'm not pleased with the fact, but surely I'll figure things out eventually. Life outside of education seems so far away, even though realistically it's sooner than I'd hope. I guess I like the sciences, and technology is always interesting, but it just doesn't feel like something I'd want to pursue outside of the curriculum. I'd always enjoyed writing, as the realization of my inner thoughts was always deeply satisfying, and my passion for books was a strong one. I'd been a member of my last schools' creative writing club for a while; until one of the older students found out I was gay. I'd loved the club, and the writing itself was therapeutic, but once they found out about my relationship with Stan I wasn't exactly welcome there anymore. The ringleaders of the abuse had parents in high places, so the fact they were homophobic pricks was overlooked by the teachers in fear for their own security.

What a fucked up system.

"I'm not sure," I reply honestly, eager to turn the topic of conversation away from me. "I'll think about it for a bit... What do you guys all do anyway?"

"Oh, yeah! Like Eric said, I do dance. Mostly modern tap, but not as much as I used to. Some bad things happened a while back and I was afraid to continue with my training for a while. I'm not exactly competition calibre anymore, but it still makes me happy. Eric does music, and he's really good too! He plays lots of instruments, you should ask him to play something for you, he's so amazing, I wish I could do stuff like that! He writes songs too, really good ones. He sells them to record companies so that other people can sing them, and sometimes his songs do really well and they're on the big radio stations. It's the coolest thing!"

"It's not that big of a deal, I barely get credit anyway." Cartman scoffs dismissively, rolling his eyes. "I only do it because I get paid for them. I never give them the decent stuff anyway; popular music these days is all people singing about their vaginas. I'm hardly a connoisseur of pussy but you can churn out the crap and the public just suck it all up. Helps me pay for school and it gets my name out there a little. It's not as amazing as he makes it sound."

I'm actually quite surprised at this, and despite what Cartman says it is legitimately cool. I never would have actually thought he'd be proactive about something, and by the look on his face Cartman is hardly pleased that I know this. I consider asking if I would know any of his songs but Butters seems overly eager to continue, and I can't bring myself to dampen his spirits.

"Craig paints, lots of his pictures are up in the building, he's got a really distinctive style so you can always tell which ones are his. He even made a valentines card this morning, show them Craig!"

"Valentines card?" Kenny snickers as Craig's face darkens. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Piss of Kenny," He groans, covering the card with his hands. "It's just for a friend… they've never gotten one so I thought I'd whip one together quickly, it d-doesn't mean anything."

"But earlier you said you'd spent two hours painting it specially-"

" _SHUT UP, BUTTERS!_ It's just a stupid card, so forget about it! Fuck you guys; I'm going to the library. I'm not having a good morning and you're all so stupid that it's giving me a headache."

We sit quietly for a moment as he storms out, shocked by his uncharacteristic display of emotion. Kenny soon erupts into laughter, and we all soon follow, our sides splitting in amusement. It's probably cruel to mock him over something like this, but after denying everything so vehemently it's clear we'd hit a nerve. He's always so apathetic, but that's mostly because he genuinely just doesn't care about most things. I was learning pretty quickly that when it comes to things important to him he can be quite direct. My mind wanders back to that exchange in the corridor, and I can't help but feel bad for laughing.

"Ha! That was precious!" Kenny chuckles, trying to compose himself. "Anyway, I act, because I'm too lazy to actually do anything that requires too much thought. My teachers say I'm quite good, so I roll with it. Clyde plays football, and he's been the goalie on our school team for two years in a row. He's actually pretty good, even though he doesn't look the part."

"Gee, thanks Kenny. I totally value your opinion." He speaks in his typical gravelly monotone. "I'm heartbroken that you would say such a thing, honestly."

As I turn my head slightly, I become acutely aware that I'm being stared at. I glance over at Cartman, half questioning and half accusatory.

"What do you want?" I mutter, displeased by his presence. He's just sitting here like nothing happened, which just increases my embarrassment even further.

"Hmm, what  ** _do_**  I want,  _Kahl_?" He muses, his voice deep and syrupy. I hate the way my breath catches in my lungs at the implications of his masculine tone, both irritating me profusely and sending unwanted tingles down my spine. He knows what to do to get under my skin and I hate that he's playing me like some sort of dysfunctional instrument.

"You don't appear to have finished your breakfast."

I snort at this; I should've seen it coming.

"God, just take it, you bloody pig. I can't eat  _whole_  full English, after last night I've lost my appetite."

"I get a free breakfast too? Excellent... We should make a habit of this, Jew."

I choke on my orange juice, narrowly avoiding spitting it all over the table. I cough violently as the liquid heads for my lungs, burning my throat like a potent acid. My sudden outburst drew the attention of the others at the table, drawing them from their own private conversations.

"Golly! Are you okay Kyle? Should we go get a nurse?" Butters yelps, legitimately worried for my health.

"He's fine, aren't you Kyle?" Replies Cartman, resting his hand on my back before patting it slightly, as if he was burping a baby.  _Fucking asshole._  "He just needs help learning how to swallow properly."

_What?_  I swear, if he keeps testing my patience I'm going to kill him as painfully as possible. No remorse, no regrets. His tasteless innuendos were lost on the others, so I hope that the raging crimson on my cheeks could be misinterpreted as a result of choking. I want to just pummel him, but he's much stronger and larger than me, and I don't want him to have the satisfaction of snapping me like a twig.

I realize his hand still lingers on my back, the heat of his body radiating through my shirt and searing my skin. His touch is gentle, but his heat seemed to set my flesh on fire. I simultaneously love and hate the sensation, but I'm so deeply disturbed at the way I react to his touch that I jerk away violently. He just watches me humorously. Pleased to get a reaction out of me.

"I swear, Cartman, you are crossing the  _fucking line."_ I growl, voice hoarse from coughing.

"Oh please, you love it really. Can't get enough of my smooth moves. You'd totally jump me if you could."

"I wouldn't even touch you with a twenty foot pole. Don't flatter yourself." I groan, but my cheeks burn at the concept. I want to yell at him - tell him it's just his stupid overinflated ego - but from the way he's looking at me I can tell the expression on my face says quite the opposite.

I can't help but loathe myself sometimes.

* * *

I bite my lip as I glance absently at the clock, not really registering the time but rather looking out of routine. I usually love the weekends, but at the moment I crave the distraction of my lessons. The free time gives me the opportunity to think about things, and with recent events it's hardly something I'm pleased about. The less I dwell on everything, the better.

I'd tried to distract myself by considering what elective to take, but there are so many options that I quickly became overwhelmed. You'd think it'd be simple to just choose a hobby, but I'd been so swept up in self-loathing and depression after the whole heartbreak fiasco I'd not really dedicated time to anything but books and sleep. It'd all seemed so hopeless, I viewed my life as a big exercise in futility.

But this is my new start. It has to be, because it's the only option. I can't go back to what I was, because if I did he'd be winning. I need to get on with my life. I stopped loving him long ago, but everything still hurts.

It hurt that he would break me like that, but most of all I hated myself for being broken.

For being stupid enough to let him hurt me.

I'm startled out of my thoughts by the ping of my phone, and I look over to see a text from Ike. Typical annoying sibling timing.

_'_ _Hey bro, how's life? Haven't heard from you since yesterday. Guess who just weaseled their way into the hockey team?'_

I chuckle at this. Ike's such a typical Canadian stereotype, if we were all like him we'd be running around wearing top hats and monocles. I text him back, congratulating him. At least he knows what he wants to do with himself.

I'm not talented like everyone else seems to be. Sure, I'm somewhat intelligent, but I'm not an amazing artist or professional songwriter. I'm just… me. I don't feel like I'm anything special.

I'm just… what?

A failure? Not quite yet.

An idiot? After yesterday, that's absolutely certain.

Last night.  _Fuck_. Last night. I can't get it out of my head.

I don't want to think about it, but I can't keep the thoughts away.

He didn't seem surprised, it's as if he knew all along. He  _knew_  I was watching him, it's painfully obvious. My cheeks burn at the thought – the fact I hadn't looked away in the first place disturbs me. I feel like some sick pervert, a horny voyeur that made a fool of himself. Cartman probably thinks that's what I am, and I hate it. No matter how much I wish I didn't, I care what he thinks.  _Damn_ , I'm so screwed.

But… I'm sure lesser men had suffered a worse fate, right? As much as I hate it, I'm only human. It's not as if I  _asked_ him to get his cock out…

Jesus. I need to get my mind out of the  _fucking gutter._  I need to get my hormones under control before I do something stupid. Something really stupid.

I sigh, trying not to think of him as I drag my hands roughly through my tousled hair. I lean back, the chair balancing on the rear legs as I rock slightly.

That image keeps on flashing in my head – Cartman reclined on his duvet, face flushed and slick lips parted, shuddering at the sensation of his own hand. I can't help but envision that expert grip around my girth, pulling at my hair, digging fingers into my hip. That damp mouth on my neck, my shoulders, nipping at my clavicle. That hot tongue dragging sensually across heated flesh, the rough, slick surface working my cock like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. He eats an awful lot, I wonder if he has an oral fixation? I wouldn't be surprised if he does.

I bet he could do such sinful, delicious things with that skilled mouth. I absently drag my hand across the rising bulge in my jeans, begging for release. Just  _think_ how those thick arms could hold me, push me into the mattress. I lift my hips subconsciously, as if encouraging him to touch me, to fuck me… god, think what he could do with that incredible girth, how amazingly he could stretch me, how he could reach such deep and pleasurable places…

A sharp thud from next door causes me to almost fall from my seat, horrified at the interruption. As I'm bought to my senses, I realize my jeans are undone. Shit! Just think what could have happened if he'd walked in! I hate this, I hate how helpless I feel to my own desires. I know it's not healthy, but I just can't stop dwelling on it, yearning for his touch. He probably intended for me to feel this way, I bet he knows what he's doing to me. These thoughts are turning out to be quite problematic…

A problem I'll have to solve with a few minutes of  _'me time'_ in the privacy of a locked bathroom. I have to at least  _try_  to preserve what little dignity I have left, I owe myself that much.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: Oh Kyle, if only you knew...
> 
> I'm not 100% sure about what Kyle should take, I'm probably going to make him write but if anyone has any other ideas/suggestions I'd love to hear them.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, you are all painfully awesome. I wish I could marry every wonderful follower and reviewer, but I'm afraid I might run into legal issues so I'm going to have to settle with typing my gratitude instead. I couldn't write without the support of excellent people like you, so I wish you all happiness and plenty of chocolate on this dreary, overcast Easter period.
> 
> Hopefully in America you get to see the sun during the spring season, and if you do, I am eternally envious.
> 
> \- NocturnalLament


	10. Phone Call and a Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: Hurrah, more kyman. I think this is the most dialogue heavy story/chapter I've ever written, but I quite like it. The phone call was painful to write and I intended to make it longer to make Kyle's frustrations to be more justified, but I've been awake for about 40 hours now and I think I will literally die if I write any more :)
> 
> Shoutout to YummyKyman/scribblesibyl and all of her fans this morning's streaming goodiness. Gotta spread all those Kyman feels.

 

**7:27**

The clock ticks continuously, the ominous clicking of the thin hand resonating throughout the silent room, indicative of my oncoming struggle. This Friday ritual was beginning to become habit in my brain, and the usual thoughts that came along with it were cemented in my head.

I've begun to envision something more interesting – more fantastical – in these dreaded moments, to help distract myself from worrying about what to do or what to say to placate my overbearing mother. I liken the steady ticking to the countdown of a bomb or the timer for a missile launch, imagining that I could somehow prevent tragedy by deactivating the device. If I'm not as imaginative in the moment, than I just amuse myself by pretending that if I wished hard enough I could slow the passage of time itself, stopping it from happening altogether.

Unfortunately, it never seems to work.

**7:28**

I bite my lip distractedly, picking at the nail bed of my left index finger as if it had suddenly become interesting. For most people this would be a moment of eager anticipation, and despite what he'd like everyone to believe this is probably a scenario that Cartman looks forward to. His tough guy persona isn't enough to hide how much he loves his mother, and I can't help but envy him.

It might seem cruel for me to feel this way, and if anyone else had said the same I'd most likely think badly of them, but if you knew my mother you'd understand. I love her, I really do. It's just difficult to cope with her madness sometimes. I know she had good intentions, but I don't really feel like coping with her tyranny right now.

With me being away from home, she's losing control of my life even more so than before, and she hates it. I tried to find solace in the fact I would have theoretically been vanquished from her tight grasp by coming here, but I'm quickly learning that the lack of contact makes her worrying even more acute. She'd probably call me every day if she could, but since I'd insisted that we limit phone communications to Friday evenings it's as if she packs everything into one conversation, and it's far too overwhelming.

The fact she can't dictate my life distresses her, and I'm not very good at dealing with it. It's not so much what she does say, but rather what she leaves unspoken. Her worry, her distaste, her fears and anger. Her disgust at me, simply for being myself - for what I can't erase. Her hating my hairstyle or friends would be easy, but the fact she loathes a fundamental part of myself is unavoidably distressing. It might be the only reality for me, but she finds it sickening, and regardless of how much I try to ignore it, it hurts each time I'm reminded.

I feel the vibrations of the desk running through my elbow, and before I even register the music I pick up my phone, answering the call in a swift movement. God forbid I'm late picking up and she thinks I'm trying to avoid her again.

"Kyle?" rings the speakers, and I bite my lip. I don't want to deal with her today.

"Yeah. Hi mum, how are you?"

"I'm okay, but I think there's a problem with your email. I haven't received the essay for the competition yet." Her voice turns sharp, disregarding my pleasantries.

"I know…" I murmur. I haven't finished it and she knows it. "I'm not finished yet, I've gotten loads of homework recently so I haven't had the free time to complete it. It's okay, the deadline is over a week away."

"It's not okay Kyle! What will the judges think if you send in your entry in at the last minute like last year? You don't win scholarships by sitting around doing nothing. You  _know_  how important it is to be punctual with your work, how will you achieve anything and get to a decent university if you don't organize your priorities?"

I want to tell her she can shove her fancy law scholarships up her ass. I hate the idea and she's perfectly aware of how I feel, but it doesn't seem to matter. She doesn't care what I want or what Ike wants, she just wants to be able to boast to her friends about her 'successful lawyer sons.'

"But… okay, I'll have it sent by tomorrow night."

"That's nice Bubbe, make sure you format it correctly. I sent you all the requirements. Anyway, Ike said you're doing well. How are those friends of yours?"

I wonder how she'd react if she knew my roommate was an anti-Semitic asshole… She'd probably storm the place trying to get me relocated, and embarrass me as much as she can in the process. Hell, if I told her he was a strangely attractive gay guy she'd probably come running even faster.

…A strangely attractive gay guy that I  _jerked of with._ She'd probably start a war or something over that one – I'm not even trying to be funny, the tanks would be rolling over the hills before you knew it.

"They're good, not much has been going on here." I lie, but it's not as if she'd care much for the truth anyway. "I've just been focusing on my studies. Did you get the notice about the trip at the end of the month? Because I've been put in advanced English lit. I'm going to the Globe Theatre with Dr. Ellenby's class."

"Oh, that's wonderful. Is it only the advanced class going? What will you see? Make sure to study the material plenty before you cover it so you know what you're going to be learning."

"I will." I lie. What's the point of getting a copy if the first thing we're going to do is read it in class? "It's  _Romeo and Juliet_. It's been years since I saw it so I don't remember much. The advanced lit classes are going, but students in the drama elective are also coming. From what I hear they're doing  _Twelfth Night_  in the Autumn term."

"I know, Ike is going to audition for a part. You should too, it's important to show you have a range of interests and abilities. It would help improve your confidence too! The skills are vital Kyle."

"I don't really think-"

"Kyle! If Ike will than why can't you? I thought your  _type_  liked that kind of thing anyway."

"My  _type_?" Is she fucking serious? What the hell! And everything was going so well…

I bite my tongue until it hurts; dreading what I might say if I didn't.

"Alright. I will, if it makes you happy." I speak through gritted teeth. If she hadn't said it in such a condescending tone I probably wouldn't have picked up on it, but of course, she has to remind me how 'filthy and immoral' she thinks my 'life choices' are. God forbid I forget.

"Thank you. Anyway, did you talk to the advisor about your elective choices? Surely they have something set up for law students. You need to make sure-"

"Actually, I haven't. I want my elective to reflect my interests. If I'm going to take something for that long I want it to be something I'm really passionate about."

I almost wish she'd begun to yell, because immediate defiance would be expected, easy to cope with – once something happens often enough it just doesn't affect you. But the sudden, grating silence causes my anxieties to skyrocket.

"Mother? I'm-"

"I am  _not_  going to be disappointed Kyle." She snaps, finishing the conversation. Her phrase is a statement rather than a question, and it's this quiet, certain determination that causes my stomach to flip. If I tried to defy her now that I'd most likely have some kind of death wish.

"Good, I'm glad that's clear. Have you  _met anyone_  recently?"

"No." I reply, fully aware that to say anything else would mean certain destruction. I always give the same response, and it's almost always true. For some reason, a certain pair of chocolate eyes flash behind my eyelids at the question, and I find this response profoundly disturbing.  _It's best to kill **that**  thought in its footsteps._

"Your father has sent you some reading materials in the post, as it's best if you can study the material ahead of time. Competition for Oxford places is tough, so you need the best headstart you can before it's too late."

It's just one ear and out the other. I could usually deal with this, but the luxury of being away from her combined with my foul mood means such concentrated doses of her zealous overparenting pushes me painfully close to the edge. I just  _can't_. Not now.

"You  _know_  I'm not going to Oxford Law.  _Ike_  might do, but there is  _no way in hell_  I even have a chance on Earth to get in. You know why?  _Because I don't want to go._ I don't care what crap you've spoon fed him about 'carrying on the family tradition', but we both know it's not going to happen. I'm sorry to be such a disappointment, but you need to learn to live with it. I can't just magically make myself into a different person to suit your own needs!" I'm not too sure if I'm just talking about career prospects anymore, but it feels too personal. "I'm never going to be perfect, but I just don't care anymore. You know what? I'm happy to be a 'train wreck' and a 'faggot that throws away his future for a life of sin', because that's just how I am. I'm not going to change for anyone."

I spit her own words at her with twice the venom, and it burns my throat like acid. I know I'd gone way too far based on what she'd said alone, but I don't regret any of it. It's  _liberating._

"Kyle! You know I didn't mean for you to hear-"

"No. I'm done. Have a nice day."

I hear the fain sound of yelling as I pull the phone from my ear, hanging up before tossing it carelessly onto my bedsheets, my exhausted body falling after it. I want to call her back and yell again, but enough damage is done. I'm beginning to be thankful that she dumped me here.

"Wow, what crawled up your arse and died?" Chuckles Cartman, his sudden voice startling me from across the room. I groan in response, frustrated at the stupid boy's supposed ability to sneak-travel.

"Since when were fat people able to qualify for ninja training? If you keep on sneaking around like that someone's going to end up killing you one day."

"Ha, like I'd give them the chance. It's not my fault you were distracted by your bitch mother."

"Don't call my mother a bitch, you fucking fatass. I'm not in the mood." I snap, but he just seems amused at my frustrations.

"It's an innocent observation." He claims, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. "She just certainly seemed that way from how you were just acting."

  1.  I scoff as I recline against my pillows, the adrenaline of the confrontation leaving my system and leaving me feeling listless.



"She's just a little difficult sometimes. I'm pretty stressed out at the moment, it was a bit of an overreaction." I sigh, looking over to my odd companion.

"That's understandable. Things aren't exactly… easy with my mother either."

"Yeah right. I'm not stupid. I'd have to be blind to not see that you love her to bits."

He gets this strange look on his face, but it's gone before I can really confirm its existence. He exhales slowly, his glances in my direction filled with unexpected sincerity.

"It's not that simple. There's a world of difference between loving someone and respecting them. I'm not really the type to be clear with my affections, but I will admit that I like her. I love her as a mother but… as a person? I don't really know. I guess it doesn't make much sense, but if you knew her you'd understand."

I don't know what to say, so I just nod in agreement, stunned by his uncharacteristic earnestness.

We sit in a comfortable silence that I would border on calling companionable until he smiles at me with an undeniable gleam of mischief in his swimming irises, painted in an enchanting chestnut-honey hue.

"I know something that might fix your mood," He grins, and for a moment I dread I'm about to become the punchline for another tasteless joke.

"Go on then, enlighten me."

"Kenny might have acquired some  _interesting_  contraband from outside sources, and thanks to my smooth talking skills and amazing likeability I may have scored us some prized goods."

"Seriously? You think I really care for a load of porn magazines? Why would you even be interested… wait, he's got gay stuff now? We're not talking unless he has some decent dvds."

He bursts out laughing, and I'm torn between blushing and chucking my pillow into his smug, hypocritical face. He manages to pull himself together enough to respond, by some strange miracle.

"No you fucking idiot! He has booze! Pulled some strings with the dorm prefects so we're going to go and chill in his room while getting trashed and listening to shitty music with the other guys. It's basically the closest to a party you get in this place, so you better come."

"I'm not really the drinking sort-"

"I don't really give a shit. I already told them you were coming and you really look like you could use some alcohol, god knows I do. Come on, get some decent clothes on, it starts at half eight. No excuses, Jewboy."

I roll my eyes at that. I'm not usually the type for partying, but I'm not usually the type to defy my mother either. At this point, I can't deny it's an appealing prospect. I need to release some stress, and this seems like the healthiest way to do it – compared to some of my other ideas, at least.

And to think Ike thought it was stupid of me to pack skin-tight jeans.

 

 

* * *

 

**A.N: Ooh, I love ambiguously slutty-sounding Kyle. As you can probably tell, next chapter will hopefully be a bit more eventful, and I'm quite excited for it. I apologise for any mistakes or if it sucked, I didn't have time to go through it and still have technically posted this on a Sunday (In the UK at least), and I _really_  need to sleep. Lots of love to you all, every last one of you. I wish all of my readers an awesome day (or whatever's left of it) because you're all so ridiculously amazing that I literally can't process it all.**

**I feel bad because I deprive Kyle of his porn. Does this make me a bad person, or just incredibly weird?**

**-NocturnalLament**

 


	11. Man Against Man

**A.N. Hello again! I'm sorry this is a bit late but I've been busy. I've only just started to realize how many wonderful people read this, and it always makes my day to talk to people that enjoy my hard work. This is dedicated to** **_every last one of you_ ** **, because you are fantastic and I love you all.**

**I'm splitting the party into multiple parts because it's going to be quite a busy night for our poor Kyle. Oh, if only he knew the things I have planned for him in the future...**

 

* * *

 

 _"_ _Ich nehm mein Schicksal in die Hand, mein Verlangen ist bemannt…"_

I sway absently to the beat as I paw through my bedside drawer, hoping to find the final touch to my outfit. I'm not usually the type to care much about my attire, but I'm determined to make a good impression tonight.

The music Cartman insisted on playing is surprisingly good, and I find myself humming along to the foreign tune. I don't understand a word that's being sung, so I'm intrigued more and more by his music tastes. Unlike some of the others, I'm quite fond of this melody. If all of his songs sounded like this one I'd probably let him play his CDs more often.

 _"_ _Mann gegen Mann, meine Haut gehört den Herren…"_

I hear the hiss of deodorant behind me, and I glance over my shoulder only for my mouth to suddenly dry at the sight of his broad chest, bare and subtly muscular. I turn my gaze guiltily, averting my eyes before he notices my wayward glance. He's a stupid douchebag… A stupid,  _shirtless_  douchebag. I can almost feel the pull of my eyes toward his naked flesh, his exposed form taunting and teasing.

I swear, I need to get this all out of my system, the tension and raging hormones must be warping my view of things. I'm not a fan of alcohol, but at the moment it feels like I'm in great need of a drink or two.

"What song is this? I haven't heard you play this one before. Is it that Nazi band?"

"Nazi band? Just because Rammstein are German? God you're so fucking stupid." He chuckles almost fondly at my suggestion, crossing the room to grab a shirt from his dresser. "It's 'Mann gegen Mann', it means man against man - unsurprisingly."

"Oh piss off, I'm sorry I don't have a degree in German language studies. I bet you can't even speak it either."

"Seriously? I've been fluent since I was ten."

I huff at that, I hate it when he starts feeling all superior. It's somewhat of impressing to be honest, but I would never tell him that. His ego is so big that one little stroke would probably push him to the breaking point, and everyone would likely drown in the flood of arrogance that would ensue. Moronic asshole. He's probably just lying anyway.

"That's nice. So what is it about then? Some kind of fighting song?"

"Not quite." He snorts at my question, seemingly greatly amused by my interpretation. I wait for an explanation but it doesn't seem as if he's going to give me one.

 _"_ _In meiner Kette fehlt kein Glied, wenn die Lust von hinten zieht…"_

"Whatever douchebag, it's just a stupid song anyway. What did you do to my cologne? I can't find it anywhere. You better not have-"

"Chill Jew," he dismisses. "I put it on the dresser with the others, you left it lying around. I'm too lazy to do anything bad to it, it's fine. It looks really expensive, though I'm hardly surprised. I didn't want to have to replace it."

I pick up the bottle, looking for any signs of interference. After sniffing tentatively, I give it the benefit of the doubt and spray myself anyway. The lovely scent is the same as usual, and I hum quietly in approval as I'm surrounded with the familiar aroma. I've always loved this one.

I feel eyes on my back but I disregard it as I look to the mirror, running my fingers through my unruly copper curls. I'd long given up trying to tame it, so it seems to have a life of its own. Fortunately it seems to be being semi-cooperative today, and actually looks somewhat reasonable. Combined with my casual button down shirt and 'saran wrap' jeans (as Ike tends to call them), I feel rather well-dressed, and judging by the eyes trawling across my back I think it's relatively safe to say Cartman agrees. I turn to look at him and his eyes dart up to my face, looking dismayed that I had noticed the downward direction of his gaze.

"Do I look okay?" I ask, my smile wide and somewhat flirtatious. His cheeks darken slightly and he watches me incredulously, confused by my teasing attitude. I think I like this game.

"You look… alright. I didn't know you were planning on coming out today though. A bit of forewarning would have been nice."

"What?" I question, thrown off a little by his statement. "What made you think that I would?"

"Oh _please,"_ he drawls, trying to distract me by turning the attention away from himself. "Like you leave anyone guessing in  _those_  jeans."

I roll my eyes, not willing to lose out on the chance to rip on him.

"Whatever, you're obviously not opposed to my choice of attire. Just admit it, you think I look  _damn_   _fine_."

His blush returns full force, and he grumbles before reaching for his cologne, hitting my head 'accidentally' in the process.

"Fuck you Kyle, if you don't want people to look you shouldn't wear skinny jeans. Don't flatter yourself; I was only looking to make sure you don't turn around and knock me over with your humongous derrière. I don't care much for nasty Jew asses."

 _"_ _Sure."_  I drone, dismissing his haphazard excuses. It's hilarious to see him being put on the spot for once but I can't help but feel flattered by his attentions… which is very well and all, but I can't help but allow my thoughts to drift, imagining him undressing me with his eyes. That seems like the kind of disrespectful thing he'd do, right? His cherry blush seems to concur.

The thought of such a thing causes a subtle shiver to ripple across my spine, and I bite my lip to try and focus myself.  _Bad thoughts, bad thoughts. So many_ _ **fucking**_ _bad thoughts._ This can't be good for my health. Even something so simple can trigger them, I fear for myself. He's just an intolerant douchebag fatass that I hate, but my body doesn't seem to be getting the memo. It's all so ridiculously fucked up right now that I don't even know what's going on in my head.

I perch delicately on my bed, picking up one of the half-digested books from my nightstand. From the corners of my eyes I can see him playing with his trousers, and I urgently need a distraction while he's changing into his jeans. Who knows what stupid thing I might say? Regardless, if he caught me looking in his direction I'd lose my newly acquired upper hand, and he'd laugh at me for being a 'faggot' in his typical hypocritical way.

I finger absently at the pages of an old copy of  _the Woman in White,_ staring straight through the book rather than at it, not absorbing any of the words my eyes absently meander across. I consider readjusting the book to conceal my face, to give me the option of sneaking a few glances in his direction, but he unknowingly gives me an excuse to look up at him.

"SCHWULER! AAHHHgh!" He bellows, in perfect timing and inflection with the singer. I roll my eyes in frustration, watching him as he melodramatically attempts to imitate a rock star in concert but failing miserably, looking more like a photosensitive epileptic at a nightclub. I can't help but chuckle at his preposterous display, feeling all the tension and antagonism in the air lift suddenly as we laugh in unison, cracking up despite the stupidity of the situation.

"You're absolutely bloody crazy!" I gasp, pinching my nose in mock irritation. "Is that even a real German word?"

"Of course it is! Till sings it too." He replies, looking insincerely hurt at my accusations. His stupid overly-innocent expression both makes me want to kiss him and to punch him in his stupid face. "I'm surprised you don't know it, if you usually dress like that than you've probably had it yelled at you before. I'm not joking, you could walk around holding a copy of  _Twinks monthly_  and no-one would bat an eye."

"Very funny. So is that is the song is actually about? Loving dicks?"

"Pretty much, I thought you'd find it most relatable." He taunts, eyes alight with mischief. "I'll sing it to you in English sometime, but we've got to go before Kenny thinks we've stood him up. Get your ass over here."

I go to follow him, stepping from our room into the quiet of the deserted corridor. I Look around nervously in fear of being caught wondering about with obvious intentions to break curfew, but he seems fazed. I'm not too surprised that he probably does this often. He might just not give a shit, anyway. I don't care what he does.

I really don't.

"Hey douchebags!" Kenny calls, pleased to see us. "Thought you'd given up on me. Kevin got a hold of the keys to the western hall, so we're in there again. Good turnout this time too, and we've got booze for days!"

"Awesome." Cartman sighs, eager to get pissed as soon as possible. "You better have gotten me my usual."

"You bet fatso, I got plenty just for you. I don't think anyone else cares much for that shit anyway, once the coke runs out no one else can stomach it. The house prefects are covering for us so we've got until 2AM to get as shitfaced as possible. You should see Eric drink Kyle! He can knock it back like a fucking pro dude."

"His extra weight probably just absorbs the excess alcohol. I don't care much for that stuff anyway, hard liquor doesn't sit too well with me."

"Aww, can't the precious little heeb hold his drink? Don't worry, we get stupid faggy alcopops and stuff for you and all the other pussies. You'll be fine. I swear, I won't let you be all uptight and jewy about this, you are going to be  _trashed_  by the end of the night." He promises, the familiar glint of a challenge in the shimmering chestnut pools of his eyes, dancing with promise.

It wasn't until later that I realized he'd offered - in full sincerity - to sing to me. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but on reflection I realize the significance of the statement. I want to call him out on it, but I decide against it, afraid he'd withdraw the offer. I can't deny it, the prospect of him singing to me sent a spark of anticipation through my body.

"Game on, fatboy." I growled, eager to be contrary. That was my first mistake.

 

* * *

 

**A.N. As always, thanks or reading and I hope you enjoyed. Leave a review and tell me what you want Kyle to drink in the next chapter, I'd love to see what you'd come up with. I headcanon Kenny as quite the skilled mixologist, so fire away with your exotic cocktails and odd concoctions.**

**You can now follow me on Tumblr,** **and I am currently working on some *somewhat smutty* artwork based on a future scene from Nothing to Lose which I hope to post there some time in the foreseeable future.**

**Lots of love to everyone, have a great day.**

**-NocturnalLament**


	12. Cigarette and Whiskey Flavoured Lips

** A.N: Oh yes, I've been looking forward to this chapter. **

** I've finished this quite quickly, even though it's my longest chapter yet. I thought you guys would like to see it early :) **

** Warning: contains alcohol and tobacco use, and Kyman feels. **

 

* * *

 

It turns out I’d severely underestimated Kenny’s smuggling business.

After bartering with prefects and hijacking keys from clueless teachers, sneaking in contraband and private plotting, he had somehow managed to pull off a literal party. I’m not exactly the party type of guy, but I have to admit this is a pretty skilful ensemble. The stage lights suspended from the ceiling had been turned to face the gathering, with the bright multi-coloured beams and darkened room creating an undeniable nightclub-esque atmosphere. Loud music pounds through the speakers from all directions, and some of the gatherings dance enthusiastically – obviously some had already started drinking.

“Wow Kenny! I don’t know what to say… you sorted all of this? I just thought there’d be a couple of us getting together to drink cheap beer under a staircase or something. This is… it’s incredible really. I didn’t think you’d be so dedicated and organized about something. Do you usually do stuff like this?”

“When it comes to partying, nothing will stand in my way.” He smiles genuinely at my enthusiasm, pleased to have impressed me. “It started out that way, but do you have any idea how much money these rich assholes are willing to pull out of their ass to experience stuff like this? A lot of these guys have been stuck in places like this all their lives, it’s tragic really. This way, they get to unwind and go crazy like normal teenagers, and it’s become an extra source of income for my family. Everyone wins, and the parties always go down a treat.”

It’s nice to see how proud of himself Kenny looks, and I’m pleased he has something to occupy himself with. Cartman, unsurprisingly, couldn’t disagree more.

“Yes Kenny, very nice. If you’re done blowing your own trumpet, I have a Jew to liquor up.” Cartman rolls his eyes, tugging at my sleeve. “Come  _on._ The longer we wait the more you’ll overthink things like you always do. I don’t want to listen to some gay little speech about self-restraint or something equally as stupid. You are going to let down that ridiculous ginger hair of yours no matter what you say.”

I shoot him an angry look, but the childish way he pulls at my shirt makes it difficult to say no to him. I’m tempted to punch the idiotic moron in his preposterously cute face. It’s not fair.

He drags me over to a table by the far wall, grabbing a glass and a bottle of deep amber liquid before filling his glass much more than is probably necessary... or reasonable, for that matter.

“Is that Whiskey?” I ask, surprised at his choice of beverage. It seems strangely classy compared to his demeanour, but I’m hardly some kind of drinks expert. “Aren’t you supposed to have Ice? And, you know, drink it in  _moderation?”_

“Oh no, is the mighty Jew worried about me?” He taunts, raising a mocking eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware you actually cared!”

“That’s just your wishful thinking, lardbutt.  I don’t want to have to lug you back to our room, you’re so heavy I might fall and get obliterated my your colossal weight.”

“ _Lardbutt?_  That’s a new one.” Kenny chuckles, coming up beside Cartman and leaning against the larger boy (much to Cartman’s dismay). “What’s your poison, Kyle? I am quite the connoisseur of mixology, if I do say so myself. Any requests?”

  “He insists he’s not the drinking type,” Cartman grumbles, too lazy to bother pushing Kenny away. “Probably doesn’t know his water from his wine. You should give him something nice and strong though. I have a feeling he’s probably a total lightweight.”

I scowl at him, punching him on the shoulder.

“Perhaps not. Do you have anything that doesn’t taste of alcohol? I hate the burn of nasty shit. I think If I had to drink what Cartman has I’d probably gag.”

“Hey! It’s delicious and sophisticated, I’ll have you know. It’s not that nasty cheap stuff. You’re just too much of a wuss for  _real_ drinks.” He retorts, waving his glass theatrically as he does so.

“Liquor pig.” I sigh, rolling my eyes at his defiance. Just give me whatever; just make it a sweet one.”

“Give him a Redheaded Slut Ken!  _Please?_ Just let him try one.” Cartman whines, eager to irritate me further. He bounces excitedly at the prospect, like an oversized, overweight child.

“I don’t know if that would suit his tastes, Eric. “ Kenny sniggers, rolling his eyes at the man-child’s moronic display. “Do you want one? You seem to have been rather eager for some recently. I’m not blind, I’m sure you would just  _love-“_

“Shut the fuck up Kenny, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cartman snaps, his eyes darkening at the blondes playful tone. “T-there is no way...”

I shoot him a puzzled look, confused why he can’t answer a stupid offer for a drink. 

“I… I just don’t like cranberries. You know that Ken, I  _hate_  them. Don’t like them one bit.”  He insists, not meeting my eyes. “That’s absolutely disgusting. Who would even want to drink that crap? It’s sickly.”

Kenny nods, unconvinced. I look incredulously between the two of them, perplexed by the odd exchange. That peculiar look on Cartman’s face makes me wish I could read minds.

 

* * *

 

It takes a bit of pestering on Cartman’s behalf to ‘loosen me up’ enough to get me to try one of Kenny’s drinks. It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s just that… okay, I don’t really trust him. I’m not going to lie.

Cartman drags me over toward the drinks table, his movements causing the rapidly depleting supply of amber liquid in his glass to slosh around dangerously, threatening to abandon his grasp altogether. He gestures to Kenny, who is preoccupied with laughing at some poor soul that had decided to try and balance a stack of shot glasses on his head – most likely a difficult feat even if he’d been sober. He grins as he makes his way towards us, seemingly excited at the prospect of liquoring me up.

“What’ll it be, officer?”  Asks the Blonde, flashing me a dazzling smile. “If your still undecided than I thing I may have come up with something to remedy the situation.”

“As long as it tastes good and won’t end up with me flat on my ass that I’m not overly fussed at this point.”

“Great, I’d been meaning to try out this one, and it should be awesome.” He begins, and I can’t help but get slightly nervous over his inexperience. I start to wonder if I should’ve resigned myself to something more simplistic. Sure, Cartman’s drink might burn my throat and tongue in a suspiciously similar manner to how I’d expect paint thinner to feel and taste, but at least it’s probably safer than whatever strange, experimental concoction Kenny might pull out of his ass.

“Don’t worry, it’s quite a simple concept. It’s based on this lovely creamy drink I had with the guys when we snuck out just after Christmas. It was delicious and tasted almost like gingerbread, but I’ve had to make a couple of simplifications to accommodate for our limited resources. I don’t have spices or anything but it should still work out a treat. Do you like Irish cream?”

“Uh, yeah. I had it with my mum once.” Cartman snorts at my admission and I shoot him a scathing look.

“Cool, you should love it then. I’m a pro at this shit, it’s going to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.” He chuckles, overly enthused by his own talent. I wonder how much he’s had to drink already.

He grabs some ice and a pot from an ice cooler nearby, and grabs a couple of bottles from beside him. He fiddles with the silver nozzle on one, and gets one of those mixing cups that I hate to admit I’ve only ever seen in movies.

He pours in a healthy dose of Irish cream before adding a dash of vodka and some other darker liquid I’m not sure how to name. Jesus Christ, that’s an awful lot of alcohol…

He pours in a little of half-and-half from the small pot before shaking enthusiastically, winking at me in a way that makes me worry Cartman is turning him into a pompous idiot too. He strains the pale liquid into a glass and wipes the rim before handing it to me, looking expectant. “Here we go, the wonderful Kenny McCormick’s Baileys Comet, on the house.”

“Wow, thanks Ken.” I start, not sure what else to say. I eye the beverage anxiously before taking a sip. It’s sweet and indulgent, and the cream really takes the edge off of the alcohol. It’s honestly quite delicious, but I dread its sugar content.

“It’s lovely, it really is. I just don’t know if I can finish it without going into some kind of diabetic coma.”

“You’ll be fine Jew.” Cartman rolls his eyes. “You took your stupid insulin and you barely ate anything today. It’s hardly going to be the death of you.”

I have to admit he’s right, and I scold myself for taking less notice of my own eating habits that day than  _he_  had. The whole business with my mother is starting to affect my concentration.

“Fine,” I groan. “But you better not give me anything else sugary.”

 

* * *

 

My body hums with a strange energy, and I’m contented in this moment, sat beside two very attractive men.

“And then he told his stupid bitch mother to fuck off!” Cartman exclaims, gushing in amusement. “It was incredible.”

“Is that w-what he really said?”  Kenny slurs, reclined sloppily across a purple beanbag. “Dun sound like Kyle to me…”

“Not quite, but you get the idea.” Cartman chuckles, and before I know it his hand is tousling my curls

“Cut it out!” I cry, my cheeks stained a similar shade of violent scarlet to my unruly hair, style worsened further by his attack. I can feel the heat of his palm by my scalp, and the carefree affectionate nature of the gesture causes my heat to accelerate. “Screw you, don’t just tough me without warning like that.”

“It seems you still have some sand in your vagina   _Kahl_...” he teases, tugging lightly on a rampant strand of my hair. “I think we need to go get some more to drink.”

I know I should tell him I don’t want to, that I’ve had enough – but when he looks at me like that my insides threaten to melt, and any defiance is rendered futile by his pleading tone. Stupid asshole, why does he have to do this to me?

Somehow, I find myself by the drinks table, unsure of what to expect. My body is filled with a pleasing buzz, but I fear Cartman is quite intoxicated. He sloshes more of his whiskey into his glass before looking up at me expectantly.

“Shots?” He asks, and I narrow my eyes at him. I’m not going that far. He notices my hesitance and pulls a betrayed face. “Fine, it’s not my fault you’re such a lightweight. Kenny doesn’t mix his drinks  _that_  strong. What else are you up for then?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, not quite certain of my own limits, or even remotely knowledgeable of what’s on offer. I pause to think of a drink, trying to make it seem as if I have any idea what I’m actually talking about. It’s probably best to go with something I’ve seen my parents order. “How about a gin and tonic?”

“It’s hardly the time of year for that.” Cartman smiles, raising an eyebrow at my choice. He pours the drink before sliding it across the surface in an arrogant attempt to look stylish. I wrinkle my nose at the ratio of booze to water, and the clear sparkling liquid is surprisingly dry. The potent signature taste of alcohol is dampened and the drink is rather pleasant. It could probably be quite refreshing if it was a little more diluted, but Cartman seems to have been a little generous with the gin-tonic ratio.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I question, smirking at him. I doubt I would be so bold to question him usually, but  _hell_ , even I need to let loose sometimes, right?

“Not really, jus’ thought you would’ve appreciate it after all the shit going on recently.”  I have to admit he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“You’re not too far off with that assessment.” I sigh, turning the glass in my hands absently. “I’m feeling a lot better now though.”

I wish it was just the alcohol and the atmosphere that made me feel this way but I can’t lie to myself. The civilized, almost affectionate interactions were a refreshing change, and this change in tone made my stomach turn in the most pleasant of ways. Stupid idiot with his stupidly gorgeous body and painfully stupid charms. It’s just  _not fair._

I hate that I could get lost in those indelible eyes, melt under his honeyed gaze. Traces of gold and other shimmering flecks dance around his dilating pupils, sweeter and more potent than any liquor. His lips are seemingly more delicious than the dark whiskey that graces them; the faded treacle colour reminding me of those curious orbs that light up his face. Everything comes full circle, and everything is his eyes, his lips, and the subtle curve of his nose. Everything is Eric, and everything is intoxicating.

He licks his chapped lips, hand slipping to his back pocket as his eyes skim for an exit.

“I’m going to go get some fresh air” he lies, and I know that couldn’t be further from the truth. Usually my inhibitions would keep my lips sealed, but in my loosened state of depleting reasoning I can’t help but call him out on it.

“Bullshit. I share a room with you; I’m not some kind of idiot. I can smell it on you a mile off.”  I try to stop myself from asking, but I just can’t help it. “Can I come with you?”

“Huh?” he asks, puzzled at my interest. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the smoking type.”

“I’m not,” I reply honestly. I shouldn’t be so honest; I really shouldn’t, because it will make me say something stupid. I know it will. “I just want to come with you.”

“How come? You planning on selling me out?” he asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes as if squinting would somehow unveil my intentions.

“No, I just think it’ll be really hot.” I reply, matter-of-factly.

_ Shitshitshitshitshit.  **Not cool.** _  I scold myself ** _,_** angry at the malfunction of my mental filters.  He’s the last person I want to admit that to.

I wait for him to call me pathetic, a pervert, a weirdo, anything. For him to get angry and yell, to hit me or laugh for the stupidity of my statement. I watch him expectantly, but his eyes just flash in dark amusement, his smile spreading slowly, full of promise. He grabs my wrist, weaving through the crowd toward the fire exit, grip tight and constricting. The blazing heat of his palm causes the hairs on my arms to stand on end, the bruising hold sending a rush of adrenaline though my veins.

If my mother was here now, she would freak out. She’d send me home right away and lock me in my room for months. But you know what?  _Fuck her._

I’m not her problem to deal with anymore.

The bitter cold February air quells my fever as we step outside, the icy breeze biting at my uncovered skin. It looks rather dark, and the sky is alight with a myriad of shimmering stars, spread like miniscule beacons amongst the heavens. Wow, the night had certainly progressed quickly. How long has it been since we left the dorms? It feels like I’ve been here forever.

Cartman leans casually against the brick wall, sighing contentedly at the refreshing winter chill. The faint noise of pounding music resonates through the building behind us, but the sudden reduction in sound levels makes it seem as if we’d stepped into another world entirely.

The peaceful quiet is broken only by the dull click of his lighter; striking several times until the flame takes, causing Cartman to swear irately under his breath. The gentle glow of the incandescent flame briefly illuminates his face in beautiful shades of fleeting oranges, dying quickly once he’d successfully lit the end of the cigarette hanging nonchalantly from his lips. He takes a drag, tense shoulders relaxing immediately as he slowly exhales. The smoke drifts in the breeze, burning my nostrils slightly as our shared air is tainted with the smoke.

“You think she’ll forgive you?” He asks.

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

“Yeah, she will after a while.” I smile at his apparent concern, even if it’s merely for the sake of small talk. “We don’t fight often but she’ll get over it eventually. I guess I need to give it time. Usually they’d just ground me or get really angry until I apologise, but they can’t get to me here. It’s kind of… freeing.”

“I get where you’re coming from.”

“No you don’t,” I sigh, “You love your mother to death, I can tell. Don’t try and lie to me about it. If anyone is a spoilt brat it’s you.”

“I’m not lying.” He bites his lip, pulling the pink flesh between his teeth in a strangely seductive way that has me transfixed. His eyes dart around, making sure the coast is clear before continuing to speak. “Loving her is part of the problem. It’d be easier if I didn’t. She’s not exactly ‘mother of the year’. She wants me to be something I’m not too, she wants to change me. It’s her fault anyway, perhaps if she’d raised me better than she wouldn’t have to put up with me in the first place. It’s not as if she has a golden track record. Quite the contrary, actually. She thinks I can just change myself in the blink of an eye but she refuses to help herself, even when…” he pauses, looking solemn as he lowers his had from his mouth. “Look, it’s a bit complicated but you can see where I’m coming from. She’s probably just thinking about what’s best for you, and that’s likely why she’s trying to change you.”

I can see the discomfort in his eyes, and I can tell it’s a difficult subject for him. I’m hit with the overwhelming urge to hold him, to draw him into my arms and protect him from the outside world.

If only life was that simple.

I’d never quite seen him like this, spare the rare flash of vulnerability every now and then. It raises my hopes to see him like this, to see the human behind the façade of malice that he works so hard to maintain. I want him to trust me, I really do.

We sit in silent contemplation, I play distractedly with a broken nail as he takes long drags on his cigarette, the subtle shine of the flickering fire exit sign colouring his smoke a faded shade of emerald.

“It’s not quite… as easy as that.” I grimace, mind brimming with painful memories. “She always wants me to be better, but no matter how much I try, it’s never enough. I’m never good enough for her. My brother – I told you about him the other day – is very intelligent for his age, and she doesn’t understand why I can excel the way he does.”

“That sucks,” Cartman drawls, flicking his ashes onto the concrete below. “You’re one of the smartest people in this shithole. That’s absolute bullshit.”

“I know, and it would be okay if that was all of it, but… look, some kinda complicated stuff happened. They ended sending me here to try and get me away from everything, but I’m not sure if I’m ready to tell you about it all yet. I will someday, I promise. I just need to figure things out first.” I sigh shakily, reminiscent of bladed memories. “I think they always knew I was gay, on some deep unconscious level in themselves. I knew they wouldn’t take things very well if I came clean to them so they were just left guessing for a while. This new guy came to school and... Things got a bit out of hand, and he ended up hurting me really badly. Should’ve never loved that prick in the first place, I mean, look where it got me. I didn’t know what to do or how to cope with everything so I just kind of caved in on myself, and ever since they figured me out they’ve never been the same towards me. My mother’s the worst by far, she pretends not to hate me for it but I know it disgusts her.  _I_  disgust her, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

He grimaces at my story, and from his expression I can tell he understands all too well. It’s not easy to be ashamed of who you are, to be hated for something beyond your control.

“Don’t let them change you Kyle. Don’t ever let them change you.” He muses, stubbing his cigarette on the bricks before reaching for another. I would question whether he really needs another out of concern for his health, but no matter how much I want to deny it the sight makes my mouth water. He lights it with ease, placing it between his parted lips, dampened by his saliva. He inhales and - in my captivated trance - I inhale along with him. He meets my eyes, a mischievous glint in his dazzling orbs as he exhales slowly, smoke spilling from open lips. The look in his eyes is a familiar one; one I can’t quite place, yet it’s still enchanting nonetheless. His dark gaze takes me in, and I feel inexplicably drawn to him. It’s only once our gazes break that I notice I had physically moved closer, literally compelled to get as close to him as I can.

I silently curse the stirring in my pants, embarrassed at my body’s reactions. He draws his tongue across his lips, wetting the chapped skin and sending a shiver down my spine.  _Fuck_.

In my distraction, I accidentally tear the broken nail, ripping it from my finger along with a patch of skin. I hiss at the unexpected sensation, blood gathering in my cuticles.

“Fucking disgusting.” I groan exasperatedly, watching the pooling crimson stain my pale skin. Cartman watches the liquid with interest, watching it slide across my fingertip.

“You need to suck your finger.” He murmurs distractedly, eyeing my wound.

“No way, I hate blood. It’s making me feel sick, and I don’t want those drinks to make a reoccurrence.” I grimace, looking up to him in discomfort.

He pauses for a moment before dropping his cigarette to the ground, crushing it with his foot before leaning in to inspect the damage. A droplet falls onto the concrete below, and he grasps my wrist, bringing it to his parted lips.

I stand,  paralysed  from shock, as his hot breath trails across the sensitive skin of my hand. My breath hitches as the area tingles violently at his touch. He hesitates here, giving me the opportunity to draw back in disgust, but I doubt I could even if I wanted to.

Those eyes hold me fixated, hypnotic and tantalising.

The speed of my erratic pulse skyrockets as his tongue trails across the flesh, the moist muscle firm against the skin as he laps up the metallic elixir. I swallow thickly at the sensation of his gentle sucking, feeling my jeans tighten considerably as he hums in appreciation, the vibrations travelling though my hand. I shudder as the organ touches the wound, the raw flesh stinging in a simultaneous burn of pain and satisfaction. I meet his eyes, and I finally recognise that gaze from before.

It was pure hunger, potent and intoxicating.

I dread that I can’t control myself, and I let out a breathy sigh as I meet those indelible eyes, meeting his expression with a similar look of longing.

The loud swing of the door startles us both, and I draw my hand backwards as if I’d burnt it on a flame. We both jump backwards, separating hastily, cheeks reddened in embarrassment, looking to the source of the noise.

“What on earth do you want?” Cartman growls irately, looking ready to gouge out Kenny’s eyes at the slightest provocation. I can’t help but concur, not exactly certain what it was that had been interrupted but eager for it to continue.

“I thought you’d be out here. Come back in, you’ve disappeared for ages and it’s about damn time you both threw down some shots.” Kenny grins evilly, eager to get us completely shitfaced. “Craig’s got some great music going; you just  _have_  to come dance with us, Kyle.”

 

* * *

 

The beat rings in my ears and the signature vodka burn still lingers slightly in the back of my throat, my nerves on fire and my enthusiasm ablaze. The steady music drives my body independent of my will, driving my movements as I attempt to dance. I’m hardly a ballerina but at this point I couldn’t care less, absorbed by the atmosphere and mind reeling from the movements of Cartman as he dances beside me. My body tingles with a pleasant numbness, but each time we come into contact my skin burns in a sweltering fever, body set alight by mere proximity to him. After the moment outside, there is a residual energy left between us, thick and palpable in the air.

At some point his hand found its way to my hip, his large fingers splayed across the denim, thumb slipped stealthily into my belt loop. As the music slows we sway in synchronization, playful and teasing with a touch of something unspoken, something deeper. That strange pull is back, that odd compulsion from before. Images of his lips flash through my mind, slick and parted over my weeping finger. I can’t help envision the slick heat of his mouth on the rest of my body, sliding across my jaw, my chest. His firm tongue tracing over my navel, mouthing at my thighs. That gentle grip on my hip tightens slightly, as if his private thoughts echoed my own. I look up to him, and he watches me curiously, as if confused at how comfortable I seem to be around him. He expects me to hate him, for me to want to push him away, and it breaks my heart at how uncomfortable he is with himself. I want to tell him this, reassure him, tell him how frustratingly gorgeous he is, but once our eyes meet everything else falls away, and all that is left is us.

We’re in our own private world as the bodies around is fade from existence, the music becoming distant as if it was from a different place, a different time. The environment slows, and it’s as if we’re submerged in the sea as I drown in his swimming orbs of delightful chocolate hues. His eyes are hot chocolate after a winter storm, huddled by a fireplace and wrapped in a woollen blanket. They are the rich soil after summer downpours, the mahogany of fine furnishings and the cinnamon of the Christmas seasons, thrown together in a wonderful cacophony of everlasting colours and shimmering light. They are the lighthouse in the turmoil of the stormy seas, a beacon of safety and comfort.

Before I know what’s happening, I feel his heated breath on my flushed cheeks, our faces separated by mere centimetres of buzzing air. My eyes drop to his lips, and I feel drawn like a moth to a flame. The pale fleshy tones, the shine of saliva, the silkiness of his enticing mouth call out to me, driving me slowly insane with thoughts of those lips of his doing awful, sinful things to my body. Holy shit.

His breath hitches, my heart thundering in my chest as I close the gap between us. Our lips collide in the most incredible way, the trials and tribulations of recent times crumbling like dust under the firm grip he has on my waist, steadying me as  I reach upward to press my mouth to his. The movement sends violent tremors through my body, heart threatening to burst from my ribcage as he reciprocates. The feel of his lips moving in perfect synchronization, and as I feel his tongue glide across my lip – asking permission – I can’t help but let out a breathy moan, whole body on fire as our mouths part.

He moves closer, arm circling my small waist as I press my body against him, two beings united in one heat; one soul. Electricity jolts through my body, my toes curling as his tongue invades my mouth, steady and sure, devouring me as if I was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. I melt under his scalding hold, the passionate dance of our tongues sending me belting into ecstasy, the kiss feral and desperate as we try to take in as much of the other as we can. I growl deep in my throat at the feel of his arousal on my hips, animalistic lust heightened by the confirmation that he feels the same way I do.  _Holy shit._

No one has ever made me feel this way. No-one.

I don’t care what anyone says about me, because right now I don’t think I’ve ever felt more complete.

* * *

 

 

**A.N: Woah, that escalated a bit quickly. I was going to split this into multiple chapters but I thought people would like this better, so there you go. I hope you enjoyed it, it's a pleasure to write for you all and hearing your thoughts is always so inspiring, the feedback was really motivating for me.**

**I have to warn you, there is some smut coming your way very soon.**

**Lots of love to everyone, and extra thanks to blankslate101 for introducing me to the undeniably delicious Bailey's Comet. Cheers! x**

**-NocturnalLament**

 


	13. Shotgun

Hello again. Huge apologies that this chapter is late, lots of stuff has been going on for me lately but I won't bore you all with the details ;)

I want to wish you all good luck in everything you do, but a big shoutout to all of the people taking their finals/exams soon, I hope you all get the results you are hoping for and try not to stress yourselves out too much.

I hope the flow of this chapter works, I'm pretty ill at the moment again so I hope it's okay.  Enjoy :)

 

 

* * *

The dawn breaks the illusion of tranquillity, the shrieking of frenzied birds and the incessant drone of heavy duty lawnmowers ringing violently in my ears. The usually pleasant melodies of nature resonate through my skull, the unexpected pain of it all rousing me from my sleep so quickly I fear I might have some kind of whiplash. I reluctantly open my fatigued eyes only to be assaulted by the streams of morning sun, the garish light causing my temples to throb in a dull agony.

As the night before comes back to me in waves – the dancing, the drinking, the heartfelt conversations by the fire exit. The affectionate glances, and the feel of that beautiful mouth on my finger, at my parted lips. The delightful memories of the evening send an involuntary shiver down my spine, images of the kiss flooding my mind until it’s all I can focus on. I can’t help but crave to feel his hands on my waist once more, the feel of his hungry lips devouring my own as I melt in the heat of it all.

I quickly reject this thought process as I begin to come to my senses, not wanting to complicate my weary disposition even further with untimely arousal.  It’s best that I just focus on quelling the vicious pounding in my head before I bother myself with doing anything else. The soreness in my body makes me doubt I could handle the situation and I don’t want to be stuck with an  _unwelcome visitor_  whilst in this state. It’d probably just give Cartman more reasons to hate me.

Oh  _Shit_. He’s going to kill me. Even though he went along with it, it could’ve just been the alcohol driving his actions. Perhaps he’ll wake up disgusted that I would do such a thing? It was me that initiated it, and I can’t help but dread that he’ll hate me for it.

Maybe he’ll just forget it never happened. I don’t exactly want him to, but I fear it’s probably for the best.

I don’t exactly want a repeat of history, no matter how attractive he might be.

These thoughts are quickly thrown out the window, however, as I shift uncomfortably under the blankets. I’d been so preoccupied with my inner thoughts I hadn’t given much thought to my physical state. I’d realized the dull ache of my joints and the pounding headache but I didn’t spare much attention for anything else. My mouth is painfully dry, but my body is a different story. My body is slick with feverish sweat, coating my exposed skin. My back is tender and throbs in a disturbingly familiar way. As I sit up it becomes apparent I’m wearing nothing but an old pair of boxers.

What,  _why?_ I grimace at the sticky sensation of my moistened skin, the dull ache at the base of my spine. It’s all too familiar, and the reality of it hits me like a fucking truck.

I run my fingers through my dishevelled hair and my cheeks light up in embarrassment.  _Holy shit. No way._ I know I should feel disgusted,  _used_  even, but all I can concentrate on is how irritated I am that I can’t remember a thing. This is not good. I have to live with him until the end of the academic year and  _this_  has already happened. What on Earth do I do? Does he remember what had happened last night? What  _even did_  happen?

God, I should have never given in. I should’ve just turned the alcohol down like a reasonable person, I probably would be in this fucking mess.

If only I could keep it in my pants. God, it was probably all my fault! I must have embarrassed myself awfully, I probably even-

“Hey Jew, nice to see you awake.” He inquires, right on cue. His voice is soft – an attempt to avoid worsening my hangover no doubt – and the velvety tone calms me immediately. He passes me a bottle of water and a couple of tablets. I question taking them, considering it  _is_  Cartman that gave them to me, but I doubt they can make me much worse. I put them in the back of my throat, the water helping to quench my uncomfortable thirst. I gulp down several mouthfuls for good measure, soothing my aching throat. I can’t help but shift uncomfortably under his gaze, the gaps in my memory leaving me with so many questions.

“Thanks…” I quietly murmur, my whispers sounding harsh and overly loud to my sensitive ears.  “I’m still a bit sore.”

He raises an amused eyebrow at me, the dark look in his eyes sending pleasant shudders coursing through my weary body. Oh god, this is not good. No one should be able to cause my heart to convulse with a glance, to rouse my lust with each dark, undeniably sexy look that graces his sharp features. This is not good. Not  _good._

_ I need to get a hold of myself. _

 “How is your ass doing?” he grins, and my stomach drops. Holy shit, this is no joke. This is  _not good_ , and I hate that my body doesn’t seem to be on the same page yet. I should be disgusted. At him, at  _myself._ He chuckles lightly, and I shoot him a grating look. Surely he does it on purpose, right? He must know what those eyes are doing to me. Someone should should give the fucker a taste of his own medicine.

“You have to be kidding me.” I whisper, more distressed over the gap in my memory that the events of the night itself. “This is so fucking embarrassing, I’m so sorry Eric. I should have  _never…!”_

He watches me blankly, apparently confused at my revelation. Surely he remembers, right?

“What’s with you? It’s hardly a big deal.”

“ _Hardly a big deal? **Really?**_ You think that this is normal or something? God, we’re not even  _together._ I’m sorry but I’m not that type of guy, I can’t just get over it. Dude, I never even  _kissed_  you before last night, I couldn’t have been thinking straight...but I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t mean something, I can’t. You can’t just blow me off after you  _fucked me_!” I feel the frustration welling in my gut, bile burning the back of my throat. Distress, more than anything. I don’t hate him for it even though I probably should. What happens now? We’ve fucked  _everything_  up.

My tone loses its anguish, my resentment leaking from the cracks in my resolve.

“I just…  _Jesus Christ_  Eric, what am I supposed to do here?” 

He watches me quizzically, as if awaiting the punchline to an amusing joke. He seems genuinely puzzled for a minute before his expression clears, as if some huge revelation had dawned on him. His hand flies to his lips, his body quaking as he struggles to contain himself before he erupts into violent laughter. I growl irately at his reaction, body convulsing as he gasps for air.

I’m going to kill this bastard

“OH my  _FUCKING GOD!_   _HAHAHAHA_!” he gasps, beside himself with laughter. I hit him viciously on his shoulder, his reaction causing anger to burn venomously as it tears through my veins. “You think we…?  _Holy shit_! I had no Idea you were so thirsty Kahl! If I honestly thought you were so eager I would’ve said something  _ages_  ago! _Oh, this is absolutely fucking precious~!_ ” Cartman chortles, face lit up in exertion from laughing so aggressively. “I’m flattered you’d go along with it - I’m seriously – but do you honestly think I’d have sex with you when you’re like that? You were a total  _mess_ , I’ve never seen anyone get that wasted from a little bit of vodka. Honestly, I had to practically carry you back here. You fell on your ass a couple of times and you seemed to have a very  _interesting_  dream, but… wait. Did you dream about me? Oh my god  _you **did!**   **Haha!”**_

My cheeks burn a violent scarlet, my rage sure and pointed as I stare down those wonderful shimmering chocolate pools with a burning fire of my own. Fucking  _prick._

There’s so many things I want to say to him. To yell and scream, to beg or reason, but my throat dries as I realize my blush is as much of a confirmation as any. I settle with what I know, no matter how petty. I’m feeling too raw to respond with any coherent wit.

“Fuck you Eric.  ** _Fuck you_** _.”_

He just grins in response. I can’t help but loathe that stupid, loveable smile of his.

* * *

 

 

It’s as if everything had gone back to normal – the meaningless conversations, the stupid banter, and Cartman’s petty quibbles. It’s quite refreshing, really, after I’d resigned myself to the thought I’d ruined things between us. He seems at ease with himself, acting as normal spare the odd extra glance in my direction, expression playful and almost verging on affectionate. I return his look with a rather shy glance of my own, surprised over his unspoken boldness but secretly tremendously pleased that things are okay. Each smile in my direction is charming, and his borderline flirtatious gaze has me subtly squirming in my seat. Even after the embarrassment of the morning, his disposition instils a little hope in me – an optimism that we could have a chance at being something substantial, something real. It’s a foolish and likely doomed hope, but I can’t seem to shake the thought.

Ever since that fated meeting of our lips, I can’t help but crave his touch.

“Could you pass the salt fellas? I can’t reach it from over here an’ it’s not polite to lean over other people.”

“Pussy” Craig quips, but passes him the salt mill anyway. “Did you hear about the royal baby? The Duchess of Cambridge queefed out a princess. My dad got invited to a royal party in her honour. Very exclusive, naturally.”

“Gross, no one gives to shits about that Craig. You know full well not to talk to me about vagina things.” Eric snaps, pulling a disgruntled face as he chews vigorously on his stew. I look over at him once I hear his voice, the familiar tone pulling me from my reveries. “It’s not as if you’re the only one with important parents around here.”

“Oh please, you’re a commoner if I ever saw one. Care to remind us what your mother does for a living?” Craig drones, his words causing a pained look to flash across Cartman’s face.

“Not cool Craig. Don’t even go there.” Kenny whispers, glaring at his nonchalant friend. Even though he tries to maintain his blasé façade it’s clear that Kenny’s words had knocked some sense in him, and he shuts his mouth promptly. The wrath of Cartman is not something he is willing to face.

I look at Cartman, eyes quizzical in response to his angered reaction. There’s no shame in being poor, and I’m that sure just because his mother doesn’t have some big professional banking job or something it doesn’t mean what she does is awful or embarrassing. People do what they need to survive, even if it’s not particularly glamorous.

I don’t understand why it gets to him the way it does, but he sits, fuming quietly and looking as if he wants to tear Craig a new one. It seems like such a petty thing to argue about but he’d obviously struck a chord.

“Whatever guys. Just keep it civil, okay?” Kenny sighs, rolling his eyes in exasperation as he pushes a mushroom around in his bowl. “You can all make up later, I still have some leftovers from the other night that could do with using up. My room at nine, yeah? Just us guys. Can you come too Kyle? We’ll just chill and play games and stuff, its great!”

“I’m not too sure about that Kenny,” I groan, dreading a repeat of the way I’d felt this morning. “It’s a really nice  offer but I don’t think I can bear drinking again for a while.”

To be honest, it’s the truth. It might have been all fun and games last night, but come morning I felt sick to my stomach in more ways than one…

 I’d reminded myself of  _him,_  and it’s not exactly a nice thing to think about. The alcohol stirs unpleasant memories that I’d prefer to keep buried.

“Screw you guys, I’m going to get some fresh air.” Cartman mumbles, his carefree mood obliterated by Craig’s offhanded comment. I watch him leave for a few seconds, eye trained on his back as he wades through the crowd of people before giving in. I jump up from my seat, waving goodbye to the others as I make my way towards him, following him out into a deserted courtyard. As the door falls shut behind me, the bitter frost bites at my exposed fingers and I shiver almost immediately, suddenly very tempted to run back indoors and grab my gloves.

The heavy thud of the door causes Cartman to turn, looking surprised to see I’d followed him out.

“What do you want?” He asks, propping a cigarette between his slightly parted lips. “You can always get your own pack, you know.”

“You know I don’t smoke.” I grimace, not even completely certain why I had followed him myself. “You just looked a bit upset.”

“Wow, stop the presses!” He retorts dryly, dampening his lip with a sweep of his tongue. “What are you,  _my mother?_  I can take care of myself, you know. I don’t need any fucking pity.”

I can’t help but smile fondly at his familiar wit, even though I’m aware it’s just an attempt to make himself seem tough.

“I’m not here to pity you; I just figured you could use some company.” I state calmly, perching myself beside him as we sit on an old bench, slightly damp from the routine afternoon rain.

He just snorts at that, although it’s clear he’s appreciative of the gesture. We sit in companionable silence for a while, watching the smoke fade into the crisp air, the hot vapour of my breath creating a similar effect as I exhale. For several moments nothing connects us but our synchronized breaths, but as he turns to face me, the meeting of our eyes stirs a familiar pull between us. Those dark, adamantine eyes seemingly consume me, pushing me in his direction like a real and palpable force. It appears he had experienced a familiar effect, as without noticing he had drawn himself inwards also, our faces suddenly inches apart.

He exhales shakily, seemingly as transfixed as I am by the odd situation. His damp lips part once more, and they look undeniably inviting as the pale puffs of smoke slip from the depths of his mouth, thickening the air between us. It catches me off guard slightly, and I cough around the vapours that suddenly invade my lungs. He smiles as I sputter, and the venomous look I shoot him in response seems to spur him on further, causing him to lean in and forcefully blow smoke in my direction. It causes my eyes to water slightly and my throat burns from the sudden assault, and my cheeks ignite in a revealing shade of crimson.

“I don’t know how you cope with that,” I retort, voice slightly raspy from the unfamiliar situation. “It’s hardly pleasant.”

“I beg to differ,” He smiles, and I’m pleased he seems to have forgotten about his earlier conflict. “It’s enjoyable when you’re used to it. It’s the really relaxing aspect of it that’s appealing, and it eventually gets to the point where you rely on it to help soothe you. The relief you get from smoking once you’re hooked is really quite calming. Helps the nerves.”

“That doesn’t sound very healthy.” I reply, raising my brow at his explanation. How long had he been smoking for? I can’t help but worry for his poor lungs.

“Well not particularly, but do I look like the type of person that worries much about that kind of thing to you?” He sighs, gesturing toward himself. I honestly don’t think he needs to worry about his weight as much, though. He doesn’t seem as fat as he did in his old photographs and while he’s still on the chubby side it rather suits him. It’s as if it gives him character, or something along those lines. I can’t deny that he looks quite palatable to my eyes.

“It’s not the same when I just blow at you. You can try one if you want, or I could always just try and make it easier for your delicate little body.” His voice lowers slightly, and he leans in until his nose is mere centimetres from my own. My breath hitches violently in my throat at the action, my eyes dropping to his lips as I dampen my own subconsciously with my tongue, soothing the chapped skin with a wet caress. His eyes narrow as I do so, chestnut eyes darting to watch the muscle trace its path.

“I don’t want a whole one for myself.” I choke, my hushed voice strained under the invisible pressure, my organs doing acrobatics in the cavity of my chest.

He smiles to himself, looking pleased with his own private thoughts before setting his eyes back on my own, determined. He leans in and my body mirrors the action, and before I know it the hand rest is digging into my shoulder blades as I recline below him, frozen in shock at the sudden change in mood.

He takes a long drag on his cigarette, pulling it from between his teeth before leaning down, mouth parted, lips directed at my own. The unexpected movement draws a gasp from me, causing my lips to separate. As I inhale, he presses forward, bringing our mouths together in an almost-kiss as he transfers the smoke from his mouth to my own.

It seems less harsh this way, and the burn is lessened, although I can hardly trust myself to make sense of what I’m feeling. The smoke is the last thing on my mind as I feel him shift above me, one elbow supporting his weight as the other meets my hip, running his fingers over the slither of exposed skin between my shirt and trousers. Fuck.

My breathing shudders as our eyes lock in place, a strange connection flows intense and riveting between us, holding us in place. The beautiful light of joy in his radiant pools of honey and molasses is breathtaking, but as a haze of lust crosses over, darkening them slightly, I figure I prefer this look even more.

Our lips meet again, this time with no hesitance. It’s as if they are destined to meet, drawn together by some omniscient force. I meet the dance of his lips with one of my own, his tongue trailing across my lower lip, eager for permission to enter. He nibbles at the skin sweetly before delving into the depths of my mouth, trailing his tongue lewd and wet across my own. I reciprocate with equal passion, arms circling his neck and pulling him in further, our torsos meeting. The cold air is forgotten as reality melts away into the background, and all I know is his lips and his touch, eager to consume me with the fame fervour I desperately long to devour him with. The chill is overcome by our combined body heat, his feverish skin warming my own through the contact of our chests, our shirts the only cursed barrier between our bare flesh.

The kiss is frantic and desperate, both craving more of the others taste, the others touch. He tastes of gravy and cigarettes, but the mere fact that it is  _him_  means the flavour combination is delicious to me, and I can’t help but crave it with every fibre of my being. I can feel his heartbeat against my own, pulses racing as the adrenaline courses through our veins. My blood flows freely, my face heated and my body flushed, blood gushing violently in my ears and causing a distinct throb between my legs. The playful scrape of his teeth causes me to moan into his open mouth, loving the overload of sensations that consume my body. I grasp him desperately, pulling him closer as he straddles my hips, causing me to shift slightly.

I let out a yelp as I feel a sudden pain on my arm, flesh sizzling in the sudden contact with heat. I dart upwards – shocked - to see Cartman laughing at me.

“Prick,” I grumble, frustrated at the change in mood. “What the hell was that?”

He just grins in amusement, gesturing to his discarded cigarette. The cherry had left a throbbing mark on my arm, and the ash had been crushed under my weight. I flick what remains of it from the wood, sitting up slightly. Peeved by his attitude, I hit him on the arm, but this only serves to further his amusement. I get up to leave -my frustration only partially sincere – when he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me back down onto his lap.

“Don’t go.” He whines, nuzzling into the side of my neck. “It’s not my fault you can’t see where you’re going. It must be that big Jew nose of yours getting in the way.”

My lips turn upward at the comment, but I know it  shouldn't  amuse me the way it does.

“Sure Eric, whatever you say.”

 

* * *

 

Had to cut it short, I have loads planned but this is quite a boring chapter really. I hope you enjoyed it! Things might seem to be plain sailing but things will get a little more angsty between them in time, naturally. Oh, things will get a bit sexy too...

Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you all have a relaxing weekend. I'm going to be posting information about my fics on my tumblr, which will likely involve some teasers at some point too. I also make crappy art and kyman videos, so if you like my stuff or you are just a pitiful Kyman lover like me than I'd love it if you could check it out, I'm only getting started.

Have a wonderful day, drop a review and try not to stress too much, no matter what troubles you face :)

\- NocturnalLament


	14. By the Moon and the Stars and the Sky

**Hey guys, sorry this is late. I went on holiday and some crazy stuff happened (ie. getting felt up by an elderly man in a swimming pool and returning to find a huge swarm of thousands of bees outside my _fucking house_ ) but I managed to get this up. Ugh, I have so much going on at the moment but I make sure to keep NTL as a priority for all you lovely ** **people out there (but I'm halfway through another AMV, a big stupid piece of art and another oneshot that should be posted this week, so alongside personal stuff I'm super busy).**

**I love you guys, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's another longer one, and I kept on giving myself major feels writing this. Finally some more Creek! Huzzah!**

**Hopefully this will make your day a little brighter, especially for all of you that are struggling with exams. Good luck to you all x**

 

* * *

 

_"Are you going to fuck me then?"_

_I raise my brows questioningly as he stumbles into my room, the strong stench of alcohol tainting the air between us and causing my stomach to turn. Surprise, surprise._

_"What? N-no. I'm too tired" He slurs, massaging his temples. "You can just take care of yourself, can't you?_

_I grit my teeth, silently seething._

_"That's not the point; it's the principle of the matter. After everything we've been through, you'd think you could give me at least a little bit of contact. I can live without romance, but I need real interaction! You don't seem to give two shits about me anymore, and now you won't even have sex with me! Am I worth that much to you?" I spit, frustrated at our predicament. This is not how this was supposed to happen. He made so many promises, and I feel helpless as he destroys them, leaving my hopes lying desecrated at my feet. After everything I'd done for him, every sacrifice I made, I can feel everything we once were slipping from my fingers like sand. It scares me._

_"I do, Kyle! You know I love you sooo much dude. I'd do anything to make you happy, no matter what. I'll make it right, I swear."_

_"Bullshit. Do you have any idea how many times you've told me that? It's all lies. You **promised**  me you wouldn't drink. You swore to me you wouldn't, just like you did last week and the week before it. It's like talking to a brick wall. You can lie to me all you like Stan, it's not exactly hard to see where your priorities lie."_

_"Oh fuck off Kyle, don't get all 'high and mighty' with me. You have no idea what you're talking about; I didn't even drink, **honest**. I just had a quick sip of Bebe's beer, it's no big deal. No wonder I don't want to spend time with you if you're gonna fuckin' interrogate me constantly."_

_"That's not fair and you know it. I only do it because I care about you. I don't want to see you end up like your father. What could possibly be so bad that you have to drink yourself sick every night? What do you think this is going to achieve!?"_

_"You don't understand Kyle. You never did."_

_"You know what, you're right. I don't understand it... But at least I care enough to try and help."_

_"Care? Fuck you. I wish you wouldn't. I don't need you, I don't need anyone. It's not going to get you anywhere; you should just give up on me while you still can."_

_"Don't you see?" I sob, a sound of pure aggravation mixed with poignant despair tearing from my chest, raw emotions burning in my throat. **"I can't"**_

 

* * *

 

"Do you think many other people will go?"

"Huh?"

"Kenny's do. You think many people will turn up?" I ask, staring absently at the book in front of me, thumb creasing the corner of the page.

Cartman looks up from his work again, watching me intently for a moment before casting his eyes downward, pencil curiously dancing across his paper. His brows crease in concentration as he scribbles, only half concentrating on the conversation.

"It's not much of an event or anything. It's just a few of the guys, not many people know about them. It's not even a regular thing; He just randomly organizes them when he has some spare time and alcohol. We usually sneak one of the consoles into their room and play some games too if we can get away with it."

"I see. So I shouldn't bother getting changed for it?" I ask half-heartedly, shifting on my duvet as I turn the page, failing to absorb any of the text at all.

"You don't have to, but if you want to slip into those faggy jeans again I won't be complaining." He smirks, eyes watching me once more, running over my reclined form.

"Pervert." I chuckle, launching a blue highlighter in his direction. It hits his arm and he swears irately, grumbling about his work as he begins to frantically rub at his paper in an attempt to erase the errant mark he'd mistakenly drawn. The pencil snaps under the pressure, causing him to throw it to the ground in aggravation.

"God fucking damn it." He mutters, retrieving another HB from his box and clutching it firmly, inspecting it thoroughly before continuing his drawing. "Thanks a ton, asshole."

"You don't think I'm an asshole  _really~"_ I taunt childishly, enjoying his grimace. Distracted, I give up on my book – dropping it onto my bed before turning to face him, intrigued by his drawing. He groans as I move, glaring at me before sighing, his graphite coated fingertips find their way to his forehead, leaving a triad of grey smudges on his skin. "What are you drawing?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm finished now anyway, I can't complete it anymore."

"Yes it does matter," I reply, raising a brow in comically falsified exasperation. "It has to be something good, you were really into it. Not letting me see just makes me more curious."

"Well tough shit, because it's not even completed. I didn't finish the shading and- God, now I'm whining about art like a stupid chick! Ugh." He rolls his eyes at himself, balling up the paper and throwing it into the waste basket on the other end of the room.

"See? Now  _that's_  manly. Hole in one, I'm the basketball champion of the dorms!" He proudly proclaims, brandishing his arms theatrically in the air.

"Champion? As if! A hole in one is in  _golf_ , moron." I chuckle, smiling at his lovable idiocy. At least when he's like this he isn't being a dick or hurting anyone.

"Whatever Jew, I am the king of this establishment so I have the final decree on all matters." He declares, trying and failing to sound authoritative. "If I say it counts, it bloody well counts.  _Got it?"_

"Yes Sire." I can't help but grin fondly, confused but amused by his ridiculous argument. "If I may dare to say so, oh noble one, Sir Kenny should be awaiting our presence at this hour. Should we not attend to him?"

He looks pleased I played along with his preposterous game, presenting his hand to me in a flamboyantly regal fashion.

"You are quite right, my Queen. Let us make haste to his chambers!" He cries dramatically, grasping my outstretched hand and pulling me from the bed into his arms.

"Queen…? HEY WAIT!" I yelp, launching a futile punch at his arm. "Fuck you man. I'm not a woman."

"You're not?" He muses, pretending to be perplexed by my gender. "Oh really? You must be, considering how much sand you must have in your vagina. Don't deny the truth Kyle."

"I do  _NOT_  have sand in my vagina!"

"So you do admit you have one, then?"

"Ugh, I hate you." I say, resting my forehead on his shoulder. "I hate you so damn much."

"I hate you too, Kyle. I swear." He hums; voice far from hostile as his fingers find their way to my hair, entwining themselves gently in my vivid scarlet curls. "By the moon and the stars and the sky."

"You like that song?" I tease; surprised he could enjoy something so tacky. "I wouldn't have ever thought you'd approve of such a thing."

"I'm full of surprises, you'll see." He promises, pressing his lips to my scalp. I just sigh at the action, half in appreciation but half out of frustration. I just wish things were simple, but there's a nagging thought in the back of my skull that I just can't seem to dismiss.

"You seem to be awfully comfortable with… whatever this is. I've not even known you that long. It seems almost surreal, but I'm not going to lie. I like this, hell; I like  ** _you_** _–_ at least when you're not being an asshole. It just scares me though, in some stupid way. It feels like I've known you forever somehow, but I don't want history to repeat itself. I let someone in that I shouldn't have, and it caused a lot of problems." I sigh, hating the words but knowing there won't be a chance of anything between us if I lie to myself. I at least owe him honesty, right? I'm beginning to realize lack of communication had been a big issue with Stan. "I just worry something's going to go wrong, and I won't be strong enough to pick up the pieces."

He watches me with a combination of intrigue and trepidation, surprisingly accommodating of my feelings. He's not exactly the emotional type (neither am I, to be honest), but the fact he's making an effort is very encouraging.

"Don't be stupid Kyle, seriously. I'm hardly a model citizen but when it comes to things important to me I won't fuck around. I know he hurt you and I'm sorry for it, but what one stupid douche did shouldn't ruin what we can have. Relationships aren't always easy territory, but I'd have to be mad to fuck it up. I'm not like him, and it's not healthy to worry yourself over it. If something doesn't go to plan, what's really the worst thing that could happen? I'll be there to help you pick everything up; I'll try to put it back together with you. You need to stop being such an uptight Jew and unbunch your panties, it's not a good look on you.  _Relax_."

I smile into the warm skin of his clavicle, reassured by his kindred words despite my concerns. He tightens his hold on me and I snake my arm around his waist in response, pressing our torsos firmly together and combining our body heat into one.

"Relationship? Is that what this is?" I muse, liking the sound of the word on my tongue, "I guess you're right. Does this mean you'll be taking me on a date?"

"You tease," He chuckles, fiddling with a stray lock of hair on my head. "If we do ever manage to sneak out anywhere you'll be the one that's paying, that's for sure. I wouldn't have thought you'd be overly concerned with the romantic stuff."

"I'm not really. I'm not overly difficult, I just need some contact and I'm satisfied. As long as you don't feed me my parents or try and start another holocaust we'll probably be okay."

"Contact? Are we talking social interaction or orgasms?"

"No, you bastard!" I know he's just trying to wind me up, but I punch him for good measure anyway. "I'm not a virgin or anything but I'm hardly the type to go around spreading my legs at the drop of a hat."

He smirks at my wording, but he looks somewhat disappointed at my assertion. I won't judge him for it though, he's only human and we all have needs.

"So am I to understand there will be no orgasms?" He whines, looking at me with a melodramatic puppy-dog expression. "That's not exactly a favourable situation."

"I didn't say that." I reply, vocal tone dropping slightly to convey my intentions. "I just said I'm not fully comfortable going all the way so soon, but it's not as if there is only one way to get off, is there?"

He grins at my unspoken proposal, humming in agreement as his other hand squeezes gently at my hip.

"Are you propositioning me,  _Kyle Broflovski?"_ He questions, raising a brow as he pulls my head back slightly to look questioningly into my eyes.

"Are you complaining?" I inquire, enjoying the light-hearted exchange.

"Hardly, I just want to know if I can hold you to it. What exactly do you propose?"

"You'll see…" I reply ambiguously, flicking playfully at his nose. "If it wasn't for Kenny's plans I'd be rather inclined to give you a little preview, but I think you'll have to wait until tomorrow. That is - of course - as long as you are not opposed to returning the favour. Give and take, Cartman."

"Ugh, really? We don't  _have_  to go-"

"Hey!" I scold him, placing my finger on his downturned lips. "We promised. If you be a douche to him you'll be lucky to get anything at all."

"Fine," He whines, batting my hand away from his mouth playfully. "But on one condition."

"I hardly think you're in the position to be making bargains, but go on then, let me hear it. Might as well humour you."

"What is my name, Kyle?" He asks, causing me to blink incredulously at his straightforward question.

"Really? Cartman, I'm not that stupid. I know your name."

"Well say it, then."

"I just did."

"No you didn't. My  _real_  name, Kyle. Say it."

"Eric?" I respond, tone more quizzical than anything. He seems pleased with my response however, patting me on the head like a dog and earning a half-hearted glare.

"Don't you think that's better? If you honestly want to date me then it's hardly appropriate for you to call me by my surname."

"Oh yeah. I guess I never really thought about it... Everyone else says calls you that so I assumed it was what I should do." I reply, partially upset that I'd not thought about his preferences but also incredibly pleased that he wants me to address him in a more intimate way. He actually sees me as a partner, as an equal, which in Cartman's eyes is a tremendous complement. He wants to date me.  _Holy shit,_  he wants to be my  _boyfriend_. The prospect has my stomach doing flips. "Okay, I think I can handle that,  _Eric_. Anyway, what do I have to lose?"

He smiles fondly, watching me for a moment before leaning in, kissing me firmly on the lips. The kiss is chaste, but it holds a lot of emotional significance, an unspoken exchange. I enjoy the feel of it all immensely, heart convulsing in my chest and body buzzing, but I can't disappoint the others – even if I would be quite contented staying here forever.

"Come on, fatboy. We have somewhere to be."

 

* * *

 

I'm awfully pleased to say that once we'd entered it became apparent that they must have cleaned up the place quite a bit. I'd been slightly worried for my health and I hadn't been looking forward to using a pile of dirty laundry as a seat, so the change is quite relieving. I wonder what it would be like if they'd left it like that for a long time… The concept makes me feel rather ill and I briefly consider going out and obtaining a hazmat suit.

"Hey! Here they come, unfashionably late as always." Kenny announces, beckoning us into the room. "Told you they'd turn up Craig."

"Cool, whatever." Craig responds in his standard indifferent tone.

"I hope you don't mind, but he dragged along his butt buddy. Clyde was going to come but according to the latest Intel he's in detention again so he's probably a no-show." He gestures toward the others, introducing them to me. "I'm sure you know Token, he's in some of your classes right? Then there's Butters, of course, and Alex, who does drama with me. You guys haven't met yet but you might recognise him, he's got the lead for Bugsy Malone in March, so he's on all the posters."

"Oh yeah, I've seen them. That's pretty cool." I say, wondering whether Kenny is in it. Surely he would have mentioned it if he was?

"Fags," Cartman mutters, and I roll my eyes at his blatant hypocrisy.

"I'm surprised  _you're_  not in it, Eric." I quip, voice teasing. "Sounds like your kind of thing."

"No! Stop spouting bullshit. I'm way to cool for that." He spits defensively, shooting me a threatening look. I'd probably be terrified by the look in his eyes if I didn't know any better, but considering the way he had held me not too long ago I hardly feel there's much need for concern on my part. His heart isn't in it.

"Whatever Cartman, Dandy Dan is manly as fuck. You're playing the piano. My role is better than being in the orchestra any day."

"Oh give it up Kenny; you're just jealous because you suck. You're a disposable secondary character but the whole thing would be in shambles without me. Nothing is more important to a musical than the music, and  _no one on the grind got skills like me."_

"Oh give it a rest you two. Your petty arguments are stressing out Tweek." Craig complains, allowing the twitching blonde in his arm bury his head in his chest as he rests his fingers in the boys disorderly hair, soothing him with a gentle caress of his scalp. "No one gives two shits about how faggy your hobbies are but there are better things to focus on. How about you crack out the goods Ken? If you douchebags are going to kick off the least you could do is offer me a drink."

Cartman sighs but sits obediently anyway, sitting beside me on an ugly orange beanbag. I smile at him in an attempt to be reassuring and he seems to cheer up a little, if not just out of gratitude that I'd made an effort to improve his mood. Kenny fishes under his bed, pulling out a box and pushing it in our direction.

"I couldn't score any glasses from the dining hall this time so we're going to have to just drink it straight from the bottle." Kenny states, causing the others to groan disappointedly.

"Weak." Eric grunts, reaching out for the half-finished bottle of bourbon. He looks pointedly at Craig, raising his bottle in a sarcastic tribute. "Now sharing a drink? That is  _much_ gayer than playing the damn piano. I'm so lucky you're all such pussies that you rely on mixers and alcopops to get by; I get a bottle  _all to myself."_

"Lucky you," Craig retorts, voice disinterested as he brandishes his middle finger in a disgruntled salute.

I don't really want to drink, but it feels rude to turn it down. I contemplate getting something just for the sake of it, but I stop the idea dead in its tracks once I realize how  _Stan-like_  the whole thought process is. Fucking asshole, ruining everything for me even after he'd left. I know it's not a good idea though, really. I don't want to make a fool of myself and end up drooling all over Eric.

Not in front of anyone else, anyway.

But as I see him bring the bottle to his lips, eagerly chugging down the golden liquid, my stomach churns. I know it's stupid to worry, but I can't shake the fear of reliving the past -Paranoia is never a good foundation for a budding relationship – and the thought of him going down a similar path honestly scares me. I don't like to recall the nights I spent at  _his_  side, helpless as he drowned himself in liquor.

"Eric?" I mutter, leaning in slightly to catch his attention. "Do you mind cutting it down a bit? I don't exactly want to be the only sober guy here."

"Seriously?" He asks, confused by my discomfort. "Why don't you just have some too? You can share mine if you like."

"No, I… Just look, I don't really feel like it right now. I'd just rather not have to drag you across the hall later, that's all."

His expression clears, and then an expression of concern slowly forms. He knows something's up and I worry he's going to push for details, but there seems to be an unspoken understanding that I have my reasons. I expect him to brush me off, but I can't help but smile as he rescrews the cap, passing the bottle over to Kenny.

"You alright fatass? Not like you to turn down free booze." Kenny smirks, eyes darting between the two of us suspiciously

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm just not really feeling it right now. You can have it."

"Who's the pussy now?" Craig snickers, surprised at the action but not willing to miss out on an opportunity to rip on him.

"Whatever asshole, I can do what I want." He dismisses, lounging back on the beanbag until our shoulders meet, arms touching between us in an innocent but enjoyable way. It's all just so reassuring I can't help but grin at him.

"You didn't need to do that, you know." I whisper, grateful for the unnecessary - albeit unexpected - reaction. "Don't let me ruin your fun."

"Its fine," he responds, a genuine smile subtly tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'm cool without. Anyway, how else will I beat Kenny's ass at Street Fighter?"

"Yeah right Cartman, I'd like to see you try. You don't have to drink if you don't want to, but no-one else can stand that nasty shit so just take it back with you. The longer I hide it the sooner Scrooge will find my stashes and beat my ass again."

"Ha ha, very funny. You and me for the first round? Like to see you  _try_  and beat me, poor boy."

They grab a pair of controllers and insert a disk from a nearby box, setting up the TV eagerly. I love it when Cartman gets so excitable like this. He reminds me of an oversized, adorable child, which is much more preferable to his common 'fuck everything' approach to things.

"Urgh. H-Have you played it b-before Kyle?" Tweek inquires, voice unnecessarily frantic as he fiddles with his coffee cup with tremoring fingers. "I don't play with these guys all the time so I-I'm not so –argh, what's the word? - …good. Craig plays with me sometimes though in the mornings, right Craig!?"

"Yep," Craig nods, wrapping his hands around Tweek's waist and shifting his slightly, so the thin boy's pelvis wouldn't dig uncomfortably into his lap. "Don't worry about it Tweekers, you play better than I did when I started. Probably not to long 'til you're better than me even."

"R-really?" He asks, looking proud of himself. Craig reflects his happiness, and I can't help but realize that the only time I've ever really smile is when his blonde is involved.

It's rather sweet, I've decided. I almost feel jealous because of what they have, but hearing Eric's triumphant cheers immediately brings a smile to my face. I look over at the stupid oaf, hands raised in celebration.

"Take that asshole! My Ryu can wipe the floor with your Ken any day!" He cries, pleased to have won the wager.

"Oh please Cartman, you were probably just button mashing. It must have been luck, your big fingers are probably too big to even hit the right buttons."

"Whatever, you're just being a sore loser. Let captain Doucheface and his sidekick the caffeine kid have a go, we can see if their sneaky training will do anything to help them on the battleground."

"You weirdo," I chuckle affectionately, leaning in as he sits beside me. He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me in toward him, and I rest my head on his shoulder as we watch them play. It's obvious that Craig is letting Tweek win, but Tweek looks so genuinely delighted with his performance that even Eric doesn't point out how biased the whole match is.

Eventually I lose my own personal battle, and I find myself gazing into those familiar eyes. I swear, they're so fucking gorgeous that their existence alone is probably a sin. The usual hardness to them is lost once our eyes meet, as if he wants to drive me insane. He succeeds in one sense, the iridescent globes of hazelnuts and chocolate causing my insides to melt. They shine like stars and they're sweeter than honey in the summertime, and all that poetic shit. I don't know what else to say, the way his eyes meet mine leave me speechless and I just want to tell him how fucking  _beautiful_  he is but the words don't seem to form in my mouth and all these stupid thoughts fill my head and there's just so much to say and I can't help but long for him to be closer, to fill my vision with those indelible eyes and stain the backs of my eyelids with those enchanting hues of rich expresso, those flecks of amber and gold. I crave for more of his body heat, his proximity filling me with a comfort and uneasiness I can't quite understand. The thoughts just pile up in my head one by one until they overwhelm me, flooding my conscious with dreams of his scent, his skin, his light caresses. F _uck, what do I do?_

I can't lie, he's starting to get under my skin. The prospect is daunting but oh-so-enticing, and I can't help but wonder where this rabbit hole leads. His eyes seem to echo the same questions, a mirror of my thoughts, reaching the same conclusion I do.

No matter where we go, we can surely figure things out together.

Naïvely, I press my lips against his, relishing in the sweet familiar tastes that I seem to be growing a craving for. Our lips meld together, the combination of our breath fuses into a wonderful flavour; chocolate cake and summer evenings, the silence after a storm. His mouth falls into synchronization with my own, sending bolts of electricity to the tips of my toes and filling my being with a pleasant hum of contentment. I'm so absorbed in the all-consuming feel of his lips and the gentle brush of his eyelashes on my cheek that I didn't notice the newfound silence until it was broken, pulling us both from our own private world.

" ** _I KNEW IT!_** _I totally knew it!_  Token, you owe me £20 motherfucker. This is why you  ** _never_**  doubt Kenny McCormick."

 

* * *

 

**Oh Token, you should have known better.** **Thank you so much for reading, and please review. I hate people that pander and the like but it makes my day to hear peoples views so I'd love it if you do. Also, if you have any requests or anything you'd like to see later on (cameos, interactions etc.) than please let me know, I love to make people happy.**

**I wonder if Kyle will fulfil his promises next chapter? *coughcough*yes*coughcough***

**As always, best wishes, and enjoy your week. Maybe go out for top notch bants and a cheeky nandos with the lads?**

**\- NocturnalLament**


	15. Drowning in those Eyes

**A.N: I am so sorry it's been a while since my last update, things have been pretty mad for me lately and there have been a few IT issues, but I've finally managed to get the chapter done. Between revising** **_Awake and Breathing_ ** **and posting a fic I promised on my tumblr (** **_I Always Do_ ** **) so I've been struggling to get this written.**

**It may just get a little NSFWish in this chapter, but the next will be nice and naughty. It's nice to get in some fluff and smut before things start to get complicated and more troubles start to arise, so this chapter is pretty light-hearted and adorable.**

**Just to clarify for those that worry, NTL is just beginning and I am not going to be finishing or abandoning it anytime soon, so don't worry if my update is a little late, I always get it done and posted as soon as I practically can :)**

* * *

 

Who would've thought a few lines could hold such meaning? That smears of carbon on processed wood pulp could portray such magnificence? The skilled hand of a master craftsman is easily distinguishable, and it takes raw talent and an expert eye for beauty to produce something of this calibre. It's almost unreal, and I struggle to comprehend how it could be in my hands when it should clearly be framed and presented behind several layers of security in a museum, so that the entire world can have the privilege to bask in its glory.

…And yet here I sit with a creased piece of paper in my hand, unscrunched and newly retrieved from the depths of a bin. The thought of it taking up space in a landfill, unseen by anyone but the artist, makes my heart hurt. It's not fair. The folds and light smudges of angry fingers do little to mar the beauty of it all, thankfully suffering little from its narrowly avoided fate.

It's hard to comprehend how the dreary charcoal grey had managed to portray such vividness, such a lively, colourful energy. The soft curls that frame the flawless face are intricately designed, framing the clearly defined features of the godly figure. A worn copy of  _Romeo and Juliet_  is suspended from his fingers, eyes disinterestedly focused on the words within. The man's familiar form is reclined effortlessly on his bedding, gorgeous eyes shimmering with a strange light, drawing in the observer. A pair of eyes so undeniably recognisable, so clearly my own.

Such intricate details must take much concentration, such accurately depicted features must take prolonged study of the subject. The obvious effort put into the portrait makes my stomach flip, and further increases my anger over how carelessly it was discarded.

Stupid idiot is so blind he can't even appreciate his own talent.

"I talked to the assholes and we'll be fine. Don't worry, Kenny is trustworthy and I have shit to hold over Craig and Token's heads, so they won't say anything to anyone If they do, there will be hell-" He stops abruptly in the doorway, dropping off halfway through his sentence as his eyes settle on me.

"Kyle why the  _fuck_  are you going through my rubbish? Is that…  _I told you_  it wasn't finished! What even gives you the right to look anyway!?" He growls angrily, swatting at the paper in my hands. I dodge his movement, grinning mischievously at him as I bring the paper to my chest, holding it close to my body protectively.

"I  _like_  it. You can't see your own skills because you're too critical of yourself. It's beautiful, and I don't care what you say."

"Look, just-"

"No. Don't even start. I'm keeping it. You threw it away, so you obviously don't want it, and considering I went to the trouble of getting it out and the fact it's in my likeness I'm going to claim ownership of it. It's mine now, and I get to have the final say."

He furrows his brows at my insistence, but he knows he won't beat me on this one. I briefly revel in my victory, even though I know I'm being admittedly childish about it. Considering he has yet to destroy to McDreidel poster (despite his threats to deface it and claims that it ' _jewed up the room')_ I figure he won't have the nerve to challenge me and take it down himself. I grab some tape from the desk and fix it above my bed, in a place it can get the respect it deserves.

Okay, maybe it goes a little deeper than a matter of disrespect…

I'm not about to admit it, but I can't help but feel touched.

"Do you seriously like it that much…?" he asks, his voice portraying his legitimate surprise at my actions. "It's not even that great, it was just a little sketch. If you really want… I'll draw a better one. I'll make a nicer one for you - just so you'll take that one down, of course. I don't want that shit hung up when I could do so much better. It makes me look bad"

I smile at him, honestly warmed by his thinly veiled gesture.

"I'd love that." I respond fondly, perching on the side of his bed. "But there are still other promises I think I want you fulfil first."

"Others?" He questions, shooting me a quizzical look. "I don't quite recall making any others. Are you trying to pull one over on me?"

"No!" I chuckle, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. "You said you'd sing to me. Before we went to Kenny's party."

He rolls his eyes at me, but there was no irritation behind it, only playfulness. Stupid idiot and his stupidly cute face, getting on my nerves as always. I'm tempted to force an answer out of him by some nefarious means, but unfortunately he responds before I have the opportunity to.

"It's not as if you've never heard me sing anyway. It's not that hard to tell if someone is asleep based on their breathing patterns, you know."

"Oh god, don't remind me." I reply, face flooding with colour at the bittersweet memory.

"Speaking of such things, I think there's a promise that needs realizing on your side as well." He insinuates, eyebrow raised mischievously in a way that shouldn't reasonably be as attractive as it is.

"We'll get to that. But you have to draw me first." I insist, eager to establish an upper hand.

"Hmm… you're giving me ideas, you know. Perhaps in this one there could be significantly be less clothing involved." He muses, voice dropping to a seductive purr. Shit, that voice will be the death of me.

"I think that can be arranged," I mutter, leaning over to press my lips firmly to his own. My body hums with a wonderful energy at the action, and it's over all too soon, leaving me silently pining for his touch despite the chaste nature of the kiss. "I think you've been watching too much 'Titanic'."

"Yeah right." he snorts dismissively, attempting to seem blasé. "I'm way to cool for that shit."

"I think you're forgetting I've seen your film collection, Eric. There's much worse films in there; you aren't fooling me in the slightest."

"Touché." He huffs, seeming a little disheartened that I'd called on his bluff.

" _Oh Eric, paint me like one of your French girls!"_ I cry melodramatically, pretending to swoon and earning a murderous glare from the brunette. He growls, throwing a pillow at my face before getting up, walking over to the desk. My eyes begin to water as I chortle at his reaction, my whole body shook by the amusement. I blink through the tears to look up at him expectantly, the undeniable rose tint to his cheeks indicative of his shame.

"Anyway - before you get too carried away - did you want the song first?" He asks, being surprisingly (yet pleasantly) compliant with my requests. I shoot him a reassuring smile, genuinely excited and wanting to express my gratitude for his sudden onslaught of thoughtfulness.

"Yes please."

He grabs the larger guitar case, glossy black and covered in old stickers and remnant sticky residue from long gone ones. He pops open the clasps and retrieves a handsome acoustic guitar, the scent of wood and varnish drifting towards me in the gentle breeze that meanders through the slender gap of the ajar window. He places it in his lap, perching on the side of the bed beside me. He runs his fingers over the wound brass strings, eyes closed in concentration as if the instrument could speak to him, speak  _through_  him in its soft melodies. He plucks absently at each string, allowing the sound to resonate throughout the room before moving on to the next, ensuring the tuning meets his standards. He gently caresses the Maplewood neck, fingers ghosting over the frets undecidedly.

"Is there anything you had in mind?" he asks, looking up for a sign of my approval. In the absence of suggestions, he seems to be deep in thought for a moment before deciding on a piece.

"Um, there's this song I'm learning at the moment that's pretty much done. It's quite beautiful but it was written by this Norwegian woman that not many people have heard of. It makes it quite frustrating because there isn't any proper tablature or anything so I've had to mostly play it by ear, but I think I've got it pretty close by now it's a majorly faggy song but the tune is nice."

"That sounds lovely." I respond, impressed. I knew he had a good musical ear but I wasn't aware he could do that.

"It's not as cool as it sounds." He dismisses, wiping the sweat of his palms off on the fabric of his trousers before beginning to pluck at the strings, their gentle tune singing in the air and melting my insides with it.

It fills the anticipatory silence that had formed, as if the world had stopped to listen. The birds' calls cease in the trees outside, their shrill tunes replaced with a riveting melody, gentle yet captivating, fully enchanting in all its musical splendour.

He bites his lip before inhaling deeply, partially to allow him to sing and partially out of nerves. The small action doesn't go unnoticed, and I want to crawl over and bite that lip myself. To take it in my teeth, feel the beat of his skin and his steady pulse on my tongue…

His voice finally emerges, almost timid at first and slightly unsteady before strengthening, as if he was hit with nerves I'd never see him experience before.

_"_ _It's like you're standing on my chest, looking down…"_

As he becomes more comfortable, relaxing into the swing of the song, his eyes meet my own. I feel the pull of his lips, his eyes, his breathtaking voice. Everything.

It's smooth and painfully sweet, like fresh summer honey. I can't help but revel in the saccharine tunes, savouring the delectable combination of notes that dance in the air around me, lingering like a pleasant aftertaste.

_"_ _I am drowning in those eyes, Oh, I am drowning in those eyes…"_

His words reflect the sensations within my chest, and I can't help but wonder if he chose this song just to spite me, because  _fuck,_ those swirling orbs of chestnuts and coffee and solid gold cause my stomach to churn pleasantly and my chest to constrict, making each inhalation shallow and breathy. They shine like moonlight streaming through dark whiskey, and I crave them like a flower needs the sun and man needs air to breathe.

_"_ _I can't breathe with you on top of me…"_

I savour the moment, losing myself in his tender lullaby. The music flows through me, stealing all the stress and torment away and replacing it with a mellow, tranquil feeling. I'm not quite sure how I can simultaneously be so calm yet so worked up, heart hammering in my chest.

The crisp breeze runs through my hair, my hairs standing on end and my skin covered in goosebumps despite the uncharacteristic warmth of the afternoon. As the melody comes to its conclusion, I can't help but lament the loss of his captivating voice. He plucks a final chord, allowing the sound to resonate through the stillness. Finally the world resumes, life stirring from its enchanted daze and continuing on as normal. The birds resume their singing and the drone of lawnmowers whir in the distance, yet in the room all remains still, the quiet sound of my pulse rushing in my ears.

"'That was-"I start, but I'm fully aware that my limited vocabulary lacks a word to describe it. Nothing can convey the effect he'd had on me, English seemingly lacking a word for such wondrous beauty. I would use the term, but it lacks the weight of it all. Our eyes meet, and he smiles at the gratitude that is reflected in them.

"It was incredible! Why don't you sing the songs you write? Surely it would sound so much better if it was you that performed them."

"It's not that simple Kyle." He chuckles warmly, ruffling my hair in the way he knows I despise. "It's not for me anyway… That type of profession, I mean."

"How do you know?" I ask, unable to understand why he lets his pride get in the way of expressing his talents. "Do you know what you want to do when you leave school?"

"I have no idea. No fucking idea." He asserts, puling an awkward face at the concept. "I really don't know. I'm only remotely good at stupid creative shit, and there's not much of a career in that. There are hardly many jobs going for people like me. I'm pretty much just getting on with things at the moment, but hopefully something will come my way. Hopefully Otherwise I'm pretty fucked and I'm going to spend my life shooting up under a bridge and living in a cardboard box with a filthy street dog named Maxwell doing dodgy favours and busking for drug money."

"It's a little troubling that Don't worry about it. You have a while yet and someone'd have to be an idiot not to hire you, you're just being melodramatic."

"They'd  _have_  to be and idiot to hire me. I hardly have the best track record and I'm not a people person. What exactly do I bring to the table? I can make some pretty sounds? I can put some lines on a page and it looks good? It's not going to get me anywhere. I'm not much good for anyone if you think about it. I don't get maths or the sciences like you do, and I'm screwed in English lit because we got given he stupid book weeks ago and I have no fucking idea what Shakespeare is on about. What the hell even is a  _maidenhead_? Do I even  _want_  to know? It's all bullshit."

I can see he seems rather agitated, and no matter how cool he tries to seem I know he's too insecure for his own good. He probably wouldn't see the extent his ability if you'd hit him round the face with it. I rest my palms on his shoulders, squeezing the flesh lightly as I lean in forward to lick at his lips, loving the feel of their broad, masculine form. I feel his lips turn upward in a smile as he reciprocates the kiss, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me in. I straddle his lap, guitar long forgotten beside us as our tongues dance in unison, hungry and claiming yet finding comfort in one other. His hand travels downward, cupping my ass through my jeans as he nibbles at my lip. Loving every second, The sudden squeeze makes me jump, yet the way he kneads the flesh in his ravenous palms sends a flash of heat through me like a jolt of electricity. I moan into his open lips, pushing myself in closer until out torsos are touching, hearts thrumming rapidly inside our respective chests. I feel the frantic pulse next to my own, almost beating in unison. Synchronized, we battle for dominance with our mouths before lightening up; settling for a lazy, all-consuming and mind-numbing kiss that has me slowly falling apart at the seams.

"Uh-" I murmur, pulling backwards despite the urge to continue, cheeks flushed and wet lips raw. "You promised you'd draw me first."

"So I did," he sighs contentedly, punctuating his words with ghostly kisses to my jaw. "And if I remember correctly, it was decided that there would be less clothing involved this time."

"I'm sure I can think of something." I respond, voice thick with supressed lust as I climb from his lap, passing him a tin of sketching pencils and a sketchbook from the desk before standing in the centre of the room, suddenly feeling very exposed. The nerves flit about in my stomach like trapped butterflies, intoxicated on fermented fruits and nectars. It had been a while, sure, but now is no time to suddenly become self-conscious. Anyway, judging by the way he looks at me and his thinly concealed obsession with my ass I think it's safe to say he's hardly going to be disappointed by my appearance.

I take in a deep breath, readying myself before I turn around, giving him a more tantalizing view whilst allowing me time away from the direct path of his gaze to build up my confidence. The desire still burns brightly in the background, but I try to focus as I slip off my blazer, carelessly discarding it on a nearby chair. Then it's my shirt. My fingers linger over the buttons before getting to work, releasing extra inches of my pale skin with each movement. The light dusting of hairs on my chest are pale, yet the lighter shade of my skin makes them more visible… However, the small trail of hairs tracing the pathway from my navel downward is a little darker, slightly curled and leading the way to my waistband. My fingers follow the trail, thumbs lingering under my waistband for a moment, entertaining the thought of just getting it over with.

No. I'm going to drag this out as long as possible, savour the moment and hopefully drive Eric mad in the process.

It's what he does to me, so he deserves it more than anyone.

I slip the garment from my shoulders, one at a time, carefully removing one arm before allowing it to gradually slip to the floor, leaving my chest and back exposed to his ravenous eyes. Eager to see his expression, I glance over my shoulder at him, catching a clear view of his vivid blush and parted lips, eyes fixated on my every movement as he quietly pants in anticipation, breath hot and humid. I turn to face him, hand meandering across my chest in a teasing motion before finding the buttons of my jeans, slowly popping them through the holes before reaching for the zipper, slowly puling it down. The loosened jeans sag on my hips, and I love the look on Eric's face as he eyes the slither of exposed flesh on my hip. He has an almost childish light of excitement in his eyes, as if it was Christmas morning all over again. My mouth goes dry as I eye the bulge in his trousers, mirroring the noticeable tent in my own. I run my tongue across my dried lip in an attempt to moisten them, causing his eyes to dart up to my mouth. His eyes darken as he watches my tongue retreat into the sultry cavern of my mouth, no doubt entertaining thoughts of what manner of utterly filthy things it could do to him. I slowly edge down my jeans, swaying my hips slightly as I slowly lower the waistband, enjoying teasing the poor brunette. I eventually slide them from my legs, leaving me wearing nothing but a pair of grey boxer-briefs, the tightly fitted fabric leaving little to the imagination.

"Fuck." Eric breathes, breaking the quiet with a breathy exultation. The look in his eyes causes me to blush vividly, the scarlet flush spreading and accenting my chest with passionate red.

"Is this satisfactory?" I ask, voice more gravelly than I'd anticipated. After all this time I seem to be on edge in the best and worst ways. Nervous, sure, but the build-up of sexual tension and the resurfacing desires of my neglected body leave my hypersensitive. I'm aware of every single hair on my body, stood on end. Every inch of my body thrums with excitement and anticipation, craving some form of stimulation – anything. Seemingly in touch with my bodes' needs, Eric pulls me into an intimate embrace, hands trailing down the cure of my spine before firmly grasping my ass, savouring the feel of the firm flesh in his palms. He hums contentedly into my clavicle, scraping his teeth along my neck before alternating between nipping and sucking the sensitive skin below my ear. The sensation of him mouthing erotically at my throat has my knees dissolving, legs turning to pulp under the sudden onslaught of stimulation. Something about the desperate way he gropes at my ass has me reeling, cock straining against the elasticated material of my boxers.

He slides his hands below the waistband, running his fingers tantalizingly over bare flesh and sending involuntary shivers through my deprived body. His grasp becomes rougher as he gains more confidence, using his grasp on my ass to push my hips forward, pressing my erection against his own - save for a few layers of pesky fabric.

"Mmmn, where do you want me?" I whisper lewdly into his ears, hot breath ghosting over his jaw. He looks suddenly overwhelmed - as if he had just won the lottery – until he fully understands my intentions. He looks slightly disappointed, and I plant kisses on the corner of his mouth to cheer him up.

"Such a filthy mind?" I taunt, pitch lowered and voice heavy with lust. "Don't worry, if you're willing to put in good behaviour than I might just consider it."

 _Might_? There's no  _might_  about it, but I'd be a fool to tell him that. Moves and countermoves… an upper hand can be invaluable.

I place my finger over his parted lips, trying to draw him back to the task at hand. I know full well that we could always reschedule but seeing him so flustered is adorable, and the knowledge that he is getting so worked up and can't do anything about it is surprisingly arousing.

"Drawing first." I scold him. I unwillingly pull back from him, immediately missing the contact but I fear that if I'd stayed there any longer than my self-control would be in jeopardy.

"So, Mister Artist, what's the plan?" I enquire, my voice a mixture of fake innocence and sultry promise. "I'm all ears."

 

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**A.N: Oh, I love horny kyle.**

**I had to cut this one on two again but there will be some action** **in the next chapter, don't fret.**

**Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a fabulous day. All the lovely reviews I got for the last chapter made me so incredibly happy, and I want to thank everyone that reviews or favourites any of my stories - it is truly the butter to the bread of the creative mind. I want to hug you all!**

**By the way, the song Cartman sings is _'drowning in those eyes'_  by Ane Brun. It is a gorgeous song and I totally recommend it.**


	16. Give and Take (NSFW)

**A.N. Hey everyone, I'm sorry it's been a while, everything has been crazy for me recently. I won't bore you with stories of boring personal stuff, but I try to get these up as soon as I can, so I'm sorry if you are ever left waiting. As the lovely Blankslate101 aptly put it, life has been sucking donkey balls for quite a while for me, but hopefully things will ease up soon.**

**_Major NSFW warning for this chapter!_ This was pretty exhausting to write so I hope it came out well. Let me know if you enjoyed it, and have a wonderful day.**

* * *

Masks – you can hide behind one, block out the world with a wall. Put up defences, deny the truth, but it can never truly be concealed.

The shaking of the hand, that subtle tremor of the wrist. The dilated pupils, the quaking of his bated breath. The bead of sweat tracing a glistening pathway down his forehead, brows furrowed in strained concentration, bottom lip clamped firmly between teeth.

Some signs are more subtle, almost missable sure – but nothing makes my breath hitch like the prominent tent in his trousers, tortured cock strained desperately against the confining fabric.

It's that one sign, clear as day, that has me worrying for my sanity. How he managed to control himself this long mystifies me, but I am incredibly touched that he is trying to please me. I withhold the temptation to just give in, willing to see him try to contain himself a little longer.

I think I'm discovering a sadistic streak I never know I had.

I chew on my own lip, trying to ground myself in the pain of my teeth as I throw my head back on the bed - subconsciously lifting my hips slightly - presenting myself to him. The hand fixed to my hip tightens, fingernails scraping the skin over the bone as I try to focus myself. His quiet whimper causes our eyes to meet once more and the connection hits us like a jolt of electricity, stopping my heated breath in its tracks and loosening his grip involuntarily, his pencil falling to the ground and the graphite snapping immediately upon impact.

I keep my eyes fixed on his, a silent challenge.

I will not be the first to break.

His eyes dip to my mouth, drawn by the movement of my tongue as I draw it across my lips, moistening the skin that had suddenly become dry as his gaze had intensified. It wasn't even an intentional move on my part, but rather a natural reaction as my mouth suddenly felt parched, the moisture deserting me under the scrutiny of that hungry stare. He seemed to have disregarded the notion of drawing entirely by this point, instead fixated on my every movement, as if trying to commit this moment to mind, to tattoo the image onto his retinas.

He grows quietly under his breath, and I almost wonder if I'd imagined it. He discards his sketchbook, laying it beside him on his bed before he stands. He advances slowly, uncertain to how I would react, steadily approaching as if I were a skittish animal. I smile at him, a genuine response to the unspoken question, attempting to reassure him that everything is okay.

I sit up, unafraid to move now that he seems to have disregarded his drawing. As I stand, the slight draft from the window chills my body, making me suddenly hypersensitive and overly conscious of my nudity. The darkening of my cheeks intensifies, the flush of embarrassment faintly decorating my chest. In an attempt to restore my confidence I press my body to his, feeling the rough fabric of his clothing against my feverish skin and somehow loving the ordinarily mundane sensation. It had been a while since I'd been in such a position, and the sudden realization made me anxious yet excited, the thrill of it all and the coursing of adrenaline-laced blood through my veins triggering a strangely heady feeling. It's almost as if I'm getting drunk off of our mere proximity, our shared breaths sending an unmistakeable jolt straight to my cock. My shameless arousal strong and needy against his own, separated only by a thin layer of material.

My breathing hitches briefly as his hands find my hips, running over the sweat-slicked flesh he finds there. Our eyes meet, and the shimmering mix of dark liquid lust, flecks of bewitching golden hues and something I can't quite place is captivating, drawing me in. Our lips meet, tortured in their separation and desperate to be reunited, coming together as if the fate of the world was dependent on this one kiss. He licks invitingly at my bottom lip, and I eagerly part my lips alongside his own. We breathe the same air, live for the same touch, the ultimate goal of satisfaction. The kiss is crude and hungry, tongues battling, searching and tasting each crevice, leaving no corner undiscovered. My hands find his chest, getting a hold of his jacket collar and pulling, letting the garment fall to the floor. I feel the corners of his lips turn upwards against my own before he pulls back, swiftly removing his shirt before diving back in, his arm snaking around my waist and pulling me closer, our frantic heartbeats humming in unison against one another. My hands find is chest once again, savouring the feel of his bare flesh beneath my hands. I feel the muscle contract at my touch, the contact sending jolts of pure electricity through us both. Whilst he is far from thin, it is evident that a good proportion of his bulk is muscle. Sure, there is a layer of fat that yield to my touch, but this only serves to turn me on further somehow, just enjoying the feel of his body. I nip at is lip, lidded eyes meeting his own in an attempt to be seductive as my hand ceases its investigation of his torso, aiming for another destination altogether.

I place one hand at his hip, squeezing teasingly as the other traces a path downward, causing his eyes to widen slightly as my fingers reach his waistband, caressing the exposed skin before reaching the button, purposefully dragging out the movement as I pop the metal through the hole, dragging down the zip of his fly. I dig my face into the crevice of his shoulder, concealing a raging blush and trying to contain the strange mix of intoxicating lust and anxiety. As I palm at his pleading bulge through the fabric of his jeans I can't help but hum contentedly into the skin of his neck, the feel of his desperation cutting through my resolve like a knife and serving to further drive me to insanity. He mewls at the contact, hips pushing forward into my hand to increase the pressure of my ministrations. His grip on me tightens, breath racing and heart convulsing violently in his chest.

"Okay, Kahl you can stop now – _ah_ – I _need…"_

"What is the special word?" I ask teasingly, smiling into the crook of his neck. He growls in frustration, but I cradle his length roughly through the fabric, cutting off the frustrated sound with a shuddery moan. He knows full well he will be the one to break first, and he begrudgingly gives in.

" _Fuck,_ just touch me. _Please_."

I feel the urge to tease him further, but that can wait for another time when I am a little more… composed.

Giving in to his reluctant pleas, I slip my hand under the elastic of his boxers, gripping surely onto the hot flesh, his supple girth heavy in my hand. The skin is white hot, and he hisses in relief at the belated contact, cock throbbing in my hand.

I can't help but wonder how long it had been for him. Some of his sketches have me doubting his virginity, and he seemed rather confident in these situations. I feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought, and I scold myself for thinking that way. It's not even my business.

…But I can't help but realize that I want it to be. Shit, I'm in deeper than I thought. The concept scares me a little, but the concept of us being something clearly defined – more official – is so undeniably appealing. I'm sickened by the thought of someone touching him like this; having him in a way that I haven't. I want him to myself, I'm beginning to realize.

Well if I can't undo the past, I can try my best to make him forget it – to blow his mind. I wish we could start fresh, free from old heartbreaks and traumas. A clean slate.

Driven by this epiphany, I plant a final peck at his deliciously broad shoulders before pulling back, shooting him the most lustful look as I can muster as both of my hands wrap around the belt loops of his jeans, pulling them loose. I can't help but lick my lips at the sight of him in his boxers, the fabric much too tight and his arousal much too obvious. I'm hardly complaining, don't get me wrong, it just makes it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

He's big, there's no denying it. He's bigger than Stan was, and the thought both excites and terrifies me. With Eric everything seems so new, so exhilarating, so alien and so dreadfully tempting.

I look up to him with lidded eyes, taking in the image of his flustered cheeks and the majesty of his eyes further enhanced with the dark glint of lust that dances within them. I hold his gaze as I pull him from his boxers, feeling him hot and heavy in my hand. He's not much longer than me, but his girth is quite intimidating. What about when… _Oh_. After all this time I'm not really expecting to be overly comfortable anyway, but I feel a little more anxious about the concept now that everything seems so much more _real_.

My inner slut is doing backflips at the thought, and I try to reign in my rampant mind, determined to stay on track with the task at hand. Anyway, what if he doesn't even want me like that?

…One more look at his eyes has me confused over why I'd ever question it. He does seem rather confused at my hesitance though, so I smile reassuringly, giving him a playful squeeze. His flesh is feverish, and it seemingly intensifies at the first touch of my tongue – reflecting my own burning desire, neglected in his favour. He visibly shudders at the touch, eyes fixated on my every movement. A moan catches in his throat as I trace a pathway along his length, feeling him throb under the slick heat of my tongue as I teasingly lap at the tip. His familiar taste is intensified by the sweat of arousal, the tang of precome accenting the unique flavour. It's surprisingly not that unpleasant, but the knowledge of how turned on he is by the slightest of touches makes it practically delicious in my opinion. I take him into my mouth, desperate to undo him; to make him fall apart at the seams as he moans my name.

Eager to please, I take him in deeper, sucking vigorously at his cock. He is undeniably hard, a stark contrast between the soft skin – steel with the texture of velvet. The sudden increase of pleasure was immediately evident in his shuddering breaths, pulling a needy moan from his throat before he could do anything to withhold it. The wanton sound goes straight to my cock, and I reward him with more sensation, his rigid flesh sliding lewdly against my tongue. Each groan and pleasured gasp driving my need to satisfy him, resulting in more moans. It's a cycle that threatens to destroy us both, each noise he makes turning me on more than I can even begin to comprehend. I hum in second-hand gratification, not thinking about the effect it would have on him. He hisses at the vibrations of my voice, hips pressing forward automatically; the unexpected thrust pushing him in even further, nearing the back of my throat.

" _Fuck_ Kahl." He moans, bordering on a plea. His grip on my hair tightens as I resume my movements, his hips rocking gently in unison, pushing himself deeper. It should be uncomfortable, but I can't help but revel in the feeling.

"Nngh… when was the last time you got fucked, Kyle?" He hisses, seemingly torn between speech and shapeless satisfied grunts. "Ugh, it's a shame to think – _ahh –_ That beautiful ass could go to waste."

He throws his head back, the motions of his hips beginning to falter as he lets out a loud groan, struggling to cling on to the last trace of sanity, dangling precariously on a thread.

"Bet you're so fucking _tight._ God, I _can't_ Kahl, I- I'm so close. _Shit."_

Hearing him lose himself could quite possibly be the sexiest thing I've ever heard. He shudders violently, a primal groan tearing from his throat as his cock throbs against my tongue. I pull back after the first thick spurt of come hits the back of my throat, causing me to cough as the rest splatters against my cheek, hot and sticky against my flushed skin.

"Jesus _Christ."_ Eric sighs, hands dropping from my hair to my arms, pulling me up to face him. He wraps his arms around me, legs shaking under his own weight. I chuckle at this, glad to see I'd had such an effect on him. We settle on my bed, and he is quick to have me on my back as he crawls over me, wasting no time as his lips find my own. I'm surprised he doesn't seem to mind the residual taste, and once his lips travel downward, suckling at my neck, I can't resist the temptation to call him out on it.

"You do realize you totally indirectly sucked yourself off, right?" I chuckle. But once he looks up at me, eyes meeting my own, my laughter intensifies tenfold.

He raises an incredulous eyebrow at me, concerned slightly over my reaction until he brings his hand to his face, wiping away the smear of his own come from his cheek. He eyes it suspiciously before realizing that we'd shared more than a simple kiss. He chuckles along with me, voice affectionate and warm.

He wipes the residue from my cheek with a swipe of his thumb, hand lingering on my face log after he had removed the last drop, cradling my face in his hand. I encouragingly lean into his palm, content to just stay like this forever.

He however, seems to have other ideas, and I'm far from complaining as he brings his thumb to his lips – making a big show of licking his fingers clean. The sight causes my cock to twitch hungrily, reminding me I've yet to be relieved of all of this tension. The thick fog of arousal clouds my mind, begging for release. He seems to be in tune with my desires - or perhaps he just wants to return the favour – as he begins to mouth at my neck, hands running down my chest. He teasingly massages the tops of my thighs, causing my hips to buck insistently, desperate for his touch. He complies, gripping me firmly with his hand, our sweat-slicked skin gliding easily as he strokes me, his mouths ministrations leaving my neck feeling raw. He backs up, eyeing me seductively before nibbling at my collarbone, tracing the same path down to my crotch with a trail of dulcet kisses. The second I feel his mouth on me, the pleasure hits me forcefully, a thousand times more intense than anything I've ever felt before. The connection, the chemistry buzzes in the air like electricity; the heated air of sex thick between us, the pungent scent of sweat and lust mingles within the air we both share, filling our nostrils and filtering through my gritted teeth and parted lips. I can almost taste it.

As my cock slides into the velvety heat of his mouth, slick and inviting, I can't help but vocalize my pleasure – moaning loudly as the sensations threaten to overwhelm me.

"Shit, Eric, I'm already so worked up…" I murmur, cheeks stained with vibrant scarlet. "I'm already fucking close. _God_."

Suddenly unable to contain my embarrassment, I throw my arm over my face, concealing the violent blush and muffling my sounds. He takes me deeper, teasing me with his tongue in the most exquisite way possible, setting every nerve ending of my body on fire. I'm so dreadfully sensitive; each breath, each tantalizing caress, the trail of saliva sliding down to the base of my cock and the beads of sweat that streak down our foreheads are amplified, the sensations taking me to a place I'd never reached before.

"Move your arm, Kahl." He requests, pulling up to watch me. "I want you to watch me. I want to hear you moan for me, I want you to cry my name… It's okay Kyle, I'm right here. _Just let go."_

His request sounds so strangely pleading - oddly vulnerable, even - and I can't help but oblige, moving my arm and meeting his eyes. That look sends me reeling, and my breath catches as our gazes lock, saying so many things that we can't put into words. He takes me in once more, taking me deeper than should even be possible, eager to get a reaction from me. Our eyes stay fixed on each other, and I give in – moaning loudly at the stimulation, losing myself in the moment. My enraptured groans and gasps echo through the room, the feeling of him taking me in deeply, hitting the back of his throat, drives me insane. I desperately claw at the bedsheets, fingers pulling at the duvet as I try to cling to something real, something beyond this world of pleasure that consumes me. I shudder violently, nearing the edge. I feel something deep within me tighten, the tension building in my lower abdomen. I climb higher and higher, reaching my climax with a blinding flash of white – the coil unravelling, the inconceivable pleasure rolling through me in waves.

As I come down from my high, he pulls himself up to lie beside me. I turn to face him, faces inches apart and breathing shared air once more. The tired, satisfied smile on his face is so ridiculously adorable that I can't help but return it, mirroring the same look of delight and fondness in my own expression. His eyes are so beautiful that they shouldn't even be allowed to exist on this world, and the contented softness mixed with the almost childlike joy that shimmers within those chestnut orbs has me completely chained, drawn to him in some inexplicable way. Like a moth to a flame, though probably far more dangerous.

"Did you read the play?" He asks, voice merely a gratified whisper. "I only got in a few pages."

"What. Romeo and Juliet? Why? Can't you just do it yourself? I shouldn't have to do your homework for you."

"Well yeah, but I can't exactly do it before tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" I ask, confused at his statement. "Why tomorrow?"

"The theatre trip to London! It's tomorrow. Jesus Christ, I thought my memory was bad."

"I guess it just slipped my mind." I reply honestly, eyes dropping to his lips. We meet in a kiss, and the contact itself is rather chaste but the weight behind it makes the simple gesture seem so powerful, so addictive. "I'll tell you the story tomorrow, I promise."

He nods, and I slowly become aware that at some point our hands had found each other, fingers laced together in the space between us. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze before lying on my back, staring up at the celling as the heavy weight of sleep threatens to overtake me.

"Kahl?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you sit with me on the coach tomorrow?"

"Of course I will."

I smile into the fabric of the pillow, trying to remember the last time I'd felt so happy, so whole.

At some point, the darkness overtook me, and I slipped into a peaceful sleep - wrapped tightly in the comforting arms of the man I used to hate.

* * *

**Oh, these boys are so sweet. They'll be the death of me, I swear.**

**Next chapter we will leave the school grounds and meet some new people (perhaps including a certain little geek that has been particularly requested), so stay tuned. I you ever have any questions or suggestions/cameo requests feel free to drop in a review, and I'll be happy to reply (I'll try and respond asap).**

**I hope you enjoyed as always, and please drop a review or a favourite, it really means a lot to me.**

(( Remember, in general fanfic writers gain nothing from all of the hours of work they put in but the approval of their readers, so in general try to always show support, even if it is just the couple of seconds it takes to leave a short review or a follow. It can make a writers day to know they make others happy, so respect to everyone else that puts effort into writing for their fandoms! You _all_ rule, if you have 5 followers or 5,000. _Never give up on your talents and your dreams_.))


	17. Fever to the Form

**I'm not sure why, but I really like this chapter, I hope you all do.**

**I always have so many plans but when I come to write them they get so fleshed out, so the London trip will probably cover quite a bit. Lots of chances for relationship development :)**

**I've been having a really awful time lately, but I find solace in my writing and you are all fantastic, and just knowing people enjoy reading what I write helps me more than you all know - thank you all so much, and please enjoy the new chapter!**

* * *

I rub my eyes, shifting uncomfortably on the bench as I look out over the water, vividly reflecting the harsh glare of the sun on its mirror-like surface, perfectly still. For the first time in years I sit in Richmond Park, surrounded by seemingly endless grass and trees that seem to meld together in one big blur of vibrant green hues. There's a somewhat ethereal air to the whole place, seemingly frozen in time. Unlike I remembered it being, there were very few tourists in the area, as if I was in my own little world – encased in this idyllic moment.

The familiar place floods my mind with fond memories, beautiful moments carved permanently onto my mind. Back when life was simple.

I remember the feel of my father's encouraging hands on my back, helping me on my bicycle. I would always tell him to let go of me, insistent that I had learnt to ride well long ago, yet he'd always been hesitant to give me that small bit of independence I'd craved. I remember feeding the ducks and the geese with my mother, throwing the bread as far as I could out into the water, giving the weaker, smaller ducks the opportunity to enjoy some of the days' spoils. I remember our first visit to the park after Ike was adopted, pointing out the deer hiding deeper within the woods – the woods my mother had taught me to fear, to avoid. It's a little stupid, in reflection, but she'd made the dangers seem all too real.

I remember, I remember. I remember it all so vividly, almost as if it was playing out before me in real time, as if the memories were palpable and solid, as if I could reach out and run my fingertips through my straggly childhood hair that waves in a long forgotten wind.

Considering the comfort I derived from these reminiscent thoughts, I feel strangely empty, as if something was amiss. Now that I dwell on it, I'm certain that something is missing. An invisible void I struggle to distinguish, I puzzle I cannot decipher.

I look to the sky, almost as if I was concerned about the whereabouts of the sun, but it still blazes there, sure and steady in the sky. I feel the pulse in my veins, so my heart must remain steadfast in the chest. I could feel the significance of the emptiness crowding me, unable to appease the feeling.

Life seems one dimensional, almost flavourless. I am a discarded masterpiece, an unfinished symphony. A rise without a fall, the fever without the form.

My arms are in place, my head solid on my shoulders. The air surrounds me, filling my lungs. I flex my fingers; my toes - just to confirm their existence.

"'Sup Jew." I hear, not needing to turn to know who it is but unable to stop myself from doing so. My stomach knots at the sound of his voice, my heart soars and convulses deep within my chest.

"Hey." I respond, voice quiet and breathy, soothed by his mere presence.

He sits beside me, eyes full of love and admiration that warms my body yet causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. He wraps his hand around my waist, and I can't help but nestle into his bodily heat, burying my face in his jacket. I feel his breath dance through my hair as he leans down to kiss my scalp, the mere sound of his breathing calms me, and his signature scent feels like home.

The hole is filled by his presence, that emptiness flooded with feelings both breathtaking and frightening, an emotion I fear to name. I settle just for savouring the moment, completed by his presence.

Moments, life is just a series of moments, both heart-wrenching and beautiful. A storyline of pictures and events, those little portions of time that feel just right, like nothing exists out of the brief perfection. And this, right here, is a moment. In all its glory.

He pulls back from me, meeting my eyes with his own as he rustles my curls fondly.

"Can you skip rocks Kyle?" He asks, standing up before offering his hand, helping me to my feet. I shake my head and he just grins, pleased to be better than me even in such an inconsequential way.

"Just watch. I'll teach you, but it's best to just see the technique first."

He picks a rock from the ground at his feet, judging its weight briefly before seeming satisfied, moving over to the edge of the lake before bracing himself, practicing flicking his wrist a few times before releasing the stone, sending it gliding out to the water. It hits the pristine surface, breaking it into gentle ripples as the stone is sent into the air, skipping several times before sinking to the bottom of the water, never to be heard from again. He turns to me for approval, and I nod, impressed. He beckons me over, getting a hold of my hips as soon as I am close enough, putting me at the same angle of him.

I pick a rock from the ground, but he just shakes his head, gesturing to another one laid by its side.

"That's too round and cumbersome. You want a flatter one so it doesn't break the surface tension. This one looks light enough to work."

Obediently I pick it up, and I immediately feel the difference. He pulls me back again, drawing me in so my back is pressed up against his chest, our bodies sharing the same heat, the same energy.

"Just… spread your legs a little, yeah, like that." He seems pleased, taking my wrist in his hand and curling his fist around my own, helping me get a good grip. Once he's satisfied with my hold on the stone he maintains his grip, manipulating my arm with his to show me the correct motion.

"Okay, so you move your arm like this, and once you get the momentum you flick your wrist… Yeah, you've got it! You just need to maintain the angles and get a good spin on it and it should work. Try it."

I look back to him briefly, shooting him a grateful smile before steadying myself, keeping my legs braced and getting my body into the swing, following through with the motion and trying to perfectly emulate what he'd shown me. The rock causes the surface to ripple, leaping from the water to repeat the action. It had only skipped twice, but for a first try it was surprisingly successful. Proud of my own efforts, I turn to Eric with a childish light of excitement in my eyes, incredibly happy that he is visibly impressed.

He pulls me into his arms, and I don't hesitate to press my lips to his, wrapped up in the moment.

"Hey Kyle."

I look at him questioningly, confused when he doesn't elaborate.

"Kyle….  _Kyle_."

"What do you want?" I respond, left unanswered.

" _Kyle. KYLE._ Hey you stupid Jew, come on." He angrily growls, sounding inexplicably concerned.

" _KAHL_." Wrapped up in my one-way conversation with Cartman, I didn't notice the fading of the fauna, the dissolving of the lake into the sky. Darkness descended, light levels dropping as if the clouds had concealed the sun.

"KAHL! I swear to god you sneaky Jew-rat,  _so help me_  if you don't get up I'll never give you an orgasm again."

I jolt upward, startled into reality – only half registering his words. The harsh glare of the sun burns my eyes as I suddenly wake, causing me to blink profusely in a futile attempt to soothe my aching eyes.

"What the fuck was  _that_  for!?" I cry, pissed off that the dream had ended more than anything else.

"We overslept. Mrs. Haversham will have us by our necks if we aren't ready to leave before nine. Goddamn it." He curses himself, hastily shoving some prepacked lunches into two backpacks, followed by plenty of snacks into his own. I prepare to dig out some clothes but I spot he'd put together one for me. I quickly inspect them, looking for traces of poison or some concealed weapon.

"You picked my outfit for me?" I ask groggily, surprised at the action that almost seems to border on kindness.

"Well, yeah. I didn't want to wait for your lazy Jew ass to get ready and miss the bus," He dismisses, not looking me in the eye. They seem alright, actually quite nicely co-ordinated, and I don't hesitate to get dressed, feeling his eyes on me the entire time.

The skinny jeans are perhaps a little tight for the occasion, but they look great with the shirt he picked out, and my forest-green blazer jacket gives the whole outfit more of a formal touch. He seems very pleased with his work. I'm not sure how well he'll be able to concentrate, but after last night I'm feeling rather generous (and it's hardly like anything he hasn't seen plenty of before, anyway).

"You look pretty decent, Jew. I should dress you more often. I sorted your nasty kosher lunch and your waterproof and gloves and shit. It's in your pack but you'll have to sort your pyjamas and clothes for the morning. The hotel has towels and toiletries so I wouldn't worry about that, but if you feel up for a swim I packed your trunks, okay?"

"Great. I'd rather pack my own clothes anyway. Knowing you you'd pack something ridiculous or put nothing in at all to try and get me naked."

"Oh Kahl, we both know by now I don't need schemes to get your clothes off." He replies, grinning evilly at me as I throw a pillow at him, getting downy feathers caught in his hair. He just laughs it off, picking some from his clothes and jamming them in my hair.

"You  _motherfucker!_ You know that'll be hard to get out of my hair." I cry, my glare only half-hearted. He chuckles at my insolence, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly. He nuzzles his head into my soft curls, inhaling my scent. Just as I begin to melt into his touch, a knock at the door startles us both. He jumps, releasing me and sending me hurtling toward the floor.

I murmur profanities under my breath as I pull myself to my feet, the door opening. I look up to see a short boy with midnight black hair, in a faded blue t-shirt proclaiming  _'I used to be a Jedi but then I took a lightsaber to the knee'_ and a pair of dark denim jeans.

"Um, Mrs. Haversham said if you don't come down before the bus gets here they'll go without you… if you don't turn up soon Kenny says he'll tell Kyle about the New Years' party incident."

"God damn it Kevin." Cartman grumbles, pinching the bridge in a way that unfortunately reminds me of Stan. "God fucking damn it. Okay, tell blondie to unbunch his panties, we'll be down in two."

He dismisses the boy, who stands awkwardly for a minute before leaving, looking rather confused at the feathers that litter the floor. Quickly brushing the down from my hair, I grab some clothes from the dresser and grab my phone and camera from the chargers, slinging everything into my backpack. Cartman follows suit, balancing his bag on one shoulder as we rush out the room, thudding down the stairwell and dashing out of the entrance, just as the coach pulls up outside the dorms.

"Whoa, that was a close one." Kenny grins, beckoning us over. He stands with the boy from before, Craig and the strange blonde boy that tends to follow him around. I greet them, out of breath from the run.

"This is our group?" Cartman pants, leaning over from the exertion. "Fucking weak."

"Don't be a dick Cartman. It's worse for me, because I have you guys I naturally get stuck with Kevin. I'm sacrificing myself so you can room together. You can pay me later."

"Piss off Ken." He growls, widening Kenny's teasing grin further.

"No way,  _Barbie_. You're lucky you got up in time. Hell, you're lucky I was the only one roaming the halls last night." He snickers, jabbing at his arms.

" _Ha ha,_  my sides are splitting, poor boy. When did you come up with that one? Digging through the bins in the dining hall?"

"Deny it all you want, fatbutt. As long as you wait until people are asleep your secret is safe with me. Oh, and Craig. I totally told Craig. His sides almost did split, I'll have you know."

"You  _motherfucker_! I'll-"

"Let's keep it civil, guys. We're starting to attract attention," I sigh, raising a brow at the many faces now looking in our direction, causing them to return to their private conversations. I grab onto Eric's wrist, pulling him along as we board the coach. I sit by the window, dumping my pack by my feet as he joins me, seeming suddenly really amused by something.

"What's so funny?" I ask, closing the curtain by my seat to block out the rare glimpses of sunlight. "If you did something to my bag I'll chuck you out the window."

"I'd like to see you try. I'm buff as hell and you are just a scrawny weakling." He replies, digging in his bag for something to eat. "Admit it; you can't get enough of my hot body."

"Sure, whatever you say." I grumble, punching him on the arm. "Oh  _Eric, you're such a beefcake. You look so sexy stuffing your mouth full of bacon butties, I can hardly contain myself!"_

He looks unamused by my sarcastic swooning, eyes narrowing as he chews on his sandwich. "You're just jealous you don't have any. I'm not going to stoop to feeding you scraps."

"You know I can't eat pork, asshole."

"Oh, is that what got that sand up your vagina? Bacon envy?" He takes a theatrical bite, groaning in exaggerated pleasure. The sounds of rapture from his lips are all too familiar, causing my face to heat suddenly, cheeks lit up at the memories.

"Don't." I growl, and he misinterprets the drop in tone as anger, huffing stubbornly as he rummages through his bag, pulling out a box of cupcakes. He hands them out amongst the others, not bothering to offer one to me.

 _Douche_.

I pull out a book, leaning my head against the curtain as we draw away, stones crunching under the wheels as we leave the grounds far behind us.

"Kyle." He whispers, shaking my arm. "Wake up."

"What do you want?" I reply groggily, aggravated that he roused me from comfortable unconsciousness once more. "Are we nearly there? Why did you wake me up?"

"We have an hour yet." He whispers, moving closer. "I just thought you could do with some in-flight entertainment."

"Were on a coach, dipshit." I groan, rolling my eyes at him for what seems like the thousandth time, the motion quickly becoming a reflex action to his common moments of idiocy.

"Yes, a no-expenses-spared coach. You know what the school is like." He grins, waving down the attendant at the front of the vehicle. "That means I can do this."

She hands him a blanket, and he drapes it over me. The action seems rather kind and I smile sleepily at him, pleased he seems to be in a more enjoyable mood. I rest my head on the shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his body heat, his extra insulation making quite a comfortable pillow. His hand finds my knee beneath the fabric, squeezing lightly.

"Almost everyone around us is sleeping." He whispers into my hair, hand drifting up my thigh.

"What does that have to do with anything...?" I murmur, catching on as he palms roughly at the inside of my thigh, dangerously close to my crotch. Despite the flame that ignites between my legs in response to his actions, I pull back slightly. " **No _fucking way._**  We're surrounded by people."

"They won't wake up, I promise." He whispers, voice husky as his lips find my neck, suckling the fading marks from the previous evening, tongue rough against the skin.

"What did you  _do?"_ I whisper, voice wavering as I feel the tantalizing slide of his tongue on my flesh, sending a subtle shudder through my body.

"I'm a good chemist, you know." He sighs into my neck, voice dripping with charm somehow advanced by the lowered volume. His words are hardly encouraging but his tone turns me to putty in his hands. I bite my lip, terrified to make a sound as his hand finds the button on my jeans, snaking under them to find a steady grip on my hardening cock, jerking roughly.

" _Stop_." I hiss, torn between my shame and the slick, sinful pleasure filling my senses. "I  _can't-"_

"You can." He muses, punctuating his words with little nibbles to my jaw. "I know you need me, you're so hard already, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Just imagine what everyone would think, seeing you like this, sweaty and throbbing in my hand, begging to cum… Don't lie to yourself, we could be caught any minute – isn't it  _exciting_? Just lose yourself in the feeling, let me make you feel good Kyle."

I shut my eyes tightly, panting into my arm. God,  _his voice…_

"Someone –  _ngh_  – someone will hear you."

"They won't. You think I'd share food out of the goodness of my own heart? You feel so  _good_  in my hand. You like that, huh?"

 _"f-ffuck"_ I gasp, eyes widening as he teases my head, fingers slickened by my precome, easing the friction. "If you don't stop-"

"You'll what? What will you do, Kyle?"

" _I'll break your fucking nose_." I reply, words contradicted by the rocking of my hips, pressing upward involuntarily, just so desperate to  _feel_.

"So ungrateful." He laments, pulling back and licking his fingers clean, eyes fixed on my own; challenging.

"I didn't mean… why did you stop?" I gasp, trying to breathe through the haze of arousal that slowly drowns me, keeping me captive.

He just smiles, pulling out his phone and dismissing me completely, secretly loving my discomfort. Getting the message, I try to rebalance myself but I just  _can't._

I get up from my seat, knocking him as I climb over but not giving a shit. I run to the bathroom, locking the door before sliding down against it, legs giving up completely.

I mutter frantic profanities under my breath as my hand finds the heated flesh within my boxers, determined to finish the job he'd started. I come sat on the dirty floor of the cramped bathroom, panting his name as I soil my palm with the evidence of his hold over me.

I wash my hands thoroughly, disgusted at myself and ashamed at my inability to control my body's desires. There's just something about him, something I can't name. No one should be able to make me feel like this, yet each heated look and needy caress has me climbing the fucking walls.

I splash my face with water, stumbling a little as the coach breaks suddenly. I inspect myself in the small mirror, making sure I look somewhat normal. I can't help but notice the marks on my neck, and I pull up my jacket in an attempt to hide them. I can't help but be irritated, but deep down I almost like them. His marks, a visual reminder of his touch… but this is not a one way ownership. He is  _mine_ , and I want him to know it.

Once we reach the hotel, having booked in and found our respective rooms, I put on my scarf, concealing the raw hickeys under the soft material. We leave for the theatre, walking along the bank of the Thames. The sky is its typical dreary grey, but it wouldn't really be London any other way. I have to restrain myself from finding his hand with my own, but once we reach the Tate Modern and decide to stop for lunch, our fingers become intertwined somehow as our feet dangle over the edge of the concrete, looking out at the boats sail across the calm waters. We don't speak, but it doesn't feel necessary. We sit in contented silence, ankles deliberately touching as we eat our respective meals.

I feel like a stupid 13 year old girl with a crush. It's embarrassing as hell, but how happy it makes me is by far the most shameful part.

"You know, you're far too uptight about the rules." He comments offhandedly, breaking the quiet.

"You mean I'm responsible?"

"You could call it that, but it needs to change."

"No it doesn't."

"It does. Look, what I'm trying to say is that you need to live a little sometimes – break the boundaries, do something new and exciting."

"By getting in trouble?"

"You won't, I have lots of practice in these matters. Remember the party? I said I'd take you out one day. I meant it."

I can't help but smile at that.

"I didn't think you remembered that. We're about to go see a play though… I'm not going to skip it."

"That's not what I meant. Afterwards we're going back to the hotel, and they want us to eat there. I propose we go on a little culinary venture of our own."

"You want to take me out to dinner…? Like, a date or something?"

"Wha- No! Well, I mean… It's not exactly a-" He sputters at the suggestion, cheeks burning red as he tries to dismiss the concept. "It's just a meal, Jesus Christ Kahl."

"Okay," I smirk, bemused at his reaction. "Surely we won't be able to get a table though. Everyone will be out for dinner at that time, all the good places will be full."

"I booked us a table at Bel Canto, I've got it all covered. Don't sweat it."

He pre-booked us a table? Not a date my ass. I can't help but feel grateful, and I give him a peck on the cheek. He seems pleased, squeezing my hand.

What does this even mean for us now? Are we dating? I can't help but feel confused, I'm used to things being predetermined, predictable.

I don't want that though. That wouldn't be Eric.

"Come on boys! Let's get a move on, we've got to get to our seats!"

* * *

**Oh, I love all these ideas I'm getting for this trip. It was going to be a little thing but it's staring to look like lots is going to happen between these boys. Ugh, they are so cute it's not even funny anymore.**

**Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it! I'm feeling rather inspired so hopefully if my personal life lets me I'll try and get the next one up soon. Lots of love to everyone, and big hugs to Blankslate101, Symphnot, Chrispark and all my other loyal readers and reviewers, I swear if polygamy was legal I'd marry you all. I can't believe how well Nothing to Lose is going, what started as a little project I amused myself with is quickly rising up the ranks of Kyman fanfiction, and I couldn't do it without you.**

**Have a wonderful day**

**\- NocturnalLament**


	18. Melodies and Harmonies

**A.N yay for early posts and long ass chapters. This chapter is pretty fluffy so be warned, I think I gave myself cavities while writing this. Stuff won't be going so smoothly for long though, I promise you that one.**

**I had to do a lot of research for this one, figuring out routes and restaurants and finding music and quotes and more... but the worst was having to look at underwear catalogues. It was awful, I didn't like it at all. Really. Honest. How _do_  I cope?**

* * *

The old oak stairwell creaks under our feet, climbing upward for what almost seemed like an eternity. One we reach the top floor, we find our seats, high above the court below. We sit together at the font, perilously close to the edge, separated from the fall by age-worn wood.

"What the hell is up with this theatre? I don't get why those people are standing down there. Surely they could fit in more seats."

"It's tradition. It gives you a more authentic idea of the original experience, I guess. Those tickets are cheaper, too." I explain, trying to get comfortable on the cold bench.

"Oh, I remember talking about it in class. They're the groundlings, right? We should go for the authentic experience too. Didn't the rich used to throw rotting fruit at the peasants?"

" _No._ you are not even going to think about it. It's probably awful enough being rained on, they don't need you being a dick and making things worse. Knowing you you'd actually do it."

There is a flare of music from the stage, and I turn my attention to the actors that emerge from the stage doors. I feel him kicking playfully at my legs, and I can't help but reciprocate, rubbing our calves together. Even this simple touch is enough to flood me with warmth, and the contact is surprisingly calming.

_'Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals...'_

"So, I was thinking…" Eric whispers, leaning in toward me to keep our exchange private.

"Concentrate on the play." I respond, not really overly bothered but feeling obliged to at least try to get him involved in his studies. "You haven't read it so it will really help."

"I know, and I read this first bit already."

"You mean I read it to you?"

" _Same thing._  Anyway, I'm a little concerned about our attire for tonight. While we look perilously hot as always I'm not sure our clothes are very appropriate for this kind of restaurant, so I was thinking we could dash out after this and do a little clothes shopping."

"I don't have my card on me."

"I'll cover it, I told you not to worry."

"Why are you so eager to spend money on me all of a sudden?"

"Because I want to. Bite me, Jew. If I'm going to be putting up with you, you should at least look half-decent."

_'…Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all: Here's much to do with hate, but more with love…'_

"Okay." I murmur, resting my hand over his own as we turn our attention to the stage. I try to concentrate, but I can't top thinking about our plans for tonight. He turns his hand, running his fingers against my wrist, causing me to shiver with his gentle caresses. To prevent him from driving me mad with the feather-light contact I capture his hand in my own, fingers intertwined against the bench.

_'Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs, Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes, Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with loving tears. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet…'_

* * *

"You wasted money on that stupid poster, so why can't I buy you things?"

"It's not stupid, it's a memento. I need something to put on my wall anyway. I have perfectly good clothes at school."

"Yes, but you would look amazing in it, Just give it a try. It's not that much and your rich Jew lawyer dad buys you expensive things all the time."

"Well yeah, but your family isn't…" I waver, seeing his eyes darken at my words. I know I upset him, even if I didn't fully get why, and the guilt floods me relentlessly, gnawing at me from the inside out. "Sorry, you know I didn't mean-"

"It's fine," He insists, smiling falsely to placate me. "Anyway, I need someone else to spend my money on too. I just got a big pay-out from the record company for some of my songs, and if I gave it all to my mother she'd just spend it on something awful. Besides, seeing you happy whilst in sexy clothes is worth the couple of hundred pounds anyway."

"What..?" I ask dumbfoundedly, trying to figure out if he really just said what I think he did. The shocked widening of his eyes and the rampant blush across his cheeks confirms my suspicions, and he tries to play it off to save face.

"It's not like that! I just hate having to put up with your shitty attitude and dreadful dress sense. Nevermind that, Jew – we need some decent clothes so they don't kick us out of the restaurant. If we get suits we will look totally badass, and we can kill two birds with one stone and wear them to the spring formal. Plus, if we look older I might not even have to use my ID."

"You have an ID? Holy shit Cartman, are you  _trying_  to get us killed? Sneaking out is one thing, but fake IDs are a whole new– Hey! Where are you taking me?" I cry, shocked as he grabs my wrist pulling me over to the fitting rooms, he calls over the attendant; filling in a quick form on the desk.

"We hardly need expensive tailoring or special outfits… we could stop by one of the other stores."

"Come on, it'll be fun. Let down your jewfro, Kahl." He responds handing his debit card to the cashier. He grins at me, pleased to see me irritated and enjoying the opportunity to go against my wishes.

It's not long until I've been measured and fitted, dragged into a room filled with carefully arranged outfits.

"So sir, is there a particular event you have in mind for this outfit? Any requests or preferences?" asks the middle aged man, his thick German accent pleasant to the ears.

"I'm not overly concerned, just go with what you think is best. I'm… going out to dinner tonight. I'll probably wear it again to functions and the like though."

"Very nice. Will that young gentleman be joining you?" Inquires the man, inspecting the collars of several jackets. I nod, and he seems unsurprised. "How long have the two of you been together?"

"What? That's a bit of a rash assumption to make. What makes you think he's not just a friend?"

"The way you looked at him when you came over here. People - particularly the British - tend to keep their opinions to themselves, I find. In a profession like this I find an understanding of body language and its implications to be crucial."

"Oh, okay," I reply stupidly, unsure how to respond.

"You don't have to discuss it if you don't want to. I understand if you want to keep certain things private."

"No, it's fine. I don't really mind. I guess it's quite nice to talk about it with someone, actually. We've not really been close for too long, things are a little… complicated. It's hard to see where he stands. "

"I wouldn't worry too much," He replies knowingly, gesturing for me to move my arms into the sleeves of a dress shirt. "He wouldn't be willing to spend this much money on someone that wasn't important to him."

"He's just irresponsible with money." I counter, watching him curiously as he buttons the pristine shirt. "I wouldn't count on it as a determining factor."

"Whatever you think is best." He responds, unconvinced. He slides the jacket over my shoulders, the smooth material of the lining feeling pleasant through the fabric of my shirt. He picks up the trousers, but Cartman pops his head around the curtains, whispering something incomprehensible to the attendant – apparently in German - before leaving again, sparing a quick glance in my direction. I subconsciously fiddle with the hem of my shirt, wishing I'd worn more attractive boxers. The typical elasticated white is so childish, I can't help but suddenly feel embarrassed by them. If I'm going to get him back for earlier, I could probably do a little better.

"Say… you don't sell underwear by any chance, do you?"

"Of course. What do you have in mind?!"

"Something sexy but tasteful, classy even. Nice and tight, but sophisticated. You have anything along those lines?"

"Sure. We have a catalogue of our brands if you'd like."

"That would be great." I reply, taking the book from his hands as he returns through sorting the clothes, trying to find a better pair of trousers. There are plenty of typically arousing pictures, but I'm hardly a perfectly sculpted Adonis with flawless abs and tone. I'm just Kyle, and I want something that can enhance that.

I briefly consider a jockstrap, but I'm not convinced I'm quite that brave. Could I even pull it off? I'm not feeling overly confident about all of the sheer material and blatant fishnet-style materials, even if they look very much appealing on the models. I come across a nice pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs, both not too ridiculous but tight and alluring nonetheless.  _Perfect._  I ask for a pair and he obliges, giving me space to try them on as he adds them to the bill.

Holy shit, I actually look  _good_. Eric is going to die when he sees me in these. The suit just adds to the charm, and I can't help but shiver with anticipation for tonight.

Little does he know _, I have plans of my own for the evening._

I'm going to make him regret his actions, to make him suffer like I did on the bus, to torture him with pleasure  _tenfold._  Make him beg for release. The thought is oh-so-satisfying, and I flush as the man re-enters, watching me knowingly as I shift uncomfortably, pulling my mind from the gutter. If I can't control myself I won't even make it to the restaurant at this rate.

"How about you try these trousers?" He asks, handing me a new pair. I slip them on, and without a doubt I realized what it was Cartman had mentioned to him. They are a little tighter than tradition, but the unconventional fit actually adds to the outfit. It mostly feels like your average suit, but the tighter fit around the ass is more noticeable, and actually pleasantly comfortable. I look myself over in the mirror, pleased with my appearance. I'm no fashion genius but I can appreciate a well-made suit when I see one.

Once I leave the fitting room, I give Eric a quick turn, letting him see every angle. He seems immensely pleased, captivated as his eyes roam my body blatantly, seemingly speechless.

He looks dreadfully charming in his own outfit, and the sight alone makes me want to jump him. He would make a wonderful Bond villain – suave, sophisticated and drop-dead sexy. Forget Daniel Craig, the women would be flocking to his feet.

He smiles at me, and my heart stops in my chest. I swear, If I wasn't gay before I definitely would be now.

"Can you pack our other clothes?" He asks the attendants, putting his card back into his wallet. "I think we'll be on our way, we're booked in not long from now."

He takes the bags, wrapping my arm around his own as we walk out onto the street, surrounded by busy evening shoppers. The sun had now fully descended below the horizon, the murky city skies now a gorgeous cerulean hue. The pollution slightly blurs the light of the moon, and the light and smog conceal all but the brightest of stars. It's surprising how quickly I'd adjusted to the crystal clarity of the country skies, and now the vast expanse I was once accustomed to seems barren and empty in comparison. I look up to Eric, and the swirling chestnut and cinnamon galaxies speckled with golden stars - dancing gracefully behind the oceans of honey-sweet warmth – are more than enough to compensate, their beauty far outweighing that of the universe combined.

"It's a lovely trip, and the journey should be about 25 minutes. The restaurant is by Hyde Park so we pass Westminster and Buckingham palace, it's a very scenic route. The food is good too, you'll love it." Eric states, holding has hand out to hail in a taxi. He seems to have really thought everything through, which is undeniably quite touching. A cab pulls up and Cartman gives the address to the driver. I put the bags down as I sit in the back, sat by the window as he joins me, pulling down the seat opposite from me.

I unwind the window, allowing the cool evening air to enter the vehicle as we take off, passing Waterloo station as we approach the Thames. In my opinion, the iconic sight had never been more beautiful. Speeding across the bridge, the halcyon waters dance wonderfully below us - lights shimmering gracefully across the murky surface. Westminster palace is brightly illuminated, braking the darkness of the rapidly approaching nightfall with its incandescent light. The spotlights make the façade shine in opulent golden hues, reflected on the water in such a way that makes you wonder if the heavens themselves were crying precious metals to the earth, staining the river. The clock tower stands tall, clock face lit up and nearing the hour. I smile at the fond memories I have of the place, missing the buzz and bustle of the city. I look to Eric, and he looks like a child in a sweet shop, looking out at the landmarks in awe. The bright lights are reflected in his irises, his face lit up in affluent excitement.

"Have you never been to London before?" I ask, unable to deny that his enthusiasm is incredibly adorable.

"Not in a few years, I've spent my whole life in the south." He replies, watching the historic buildings whiz by as we drive. "It's so much cooler in person."

"We won't get in trouble, right? If my mother knew what I was doing she'd kill me."

"It's fine," He insists, kicking playfully at my feet. "As long as we're back before we have to go to bed they won't notice we ever left."

"Okay."

"Look! It's Buckingham palace! The flag is up… that means the Queen is inside, doesn't it?"

"Yeah" I confirm, smiling fondly as he sticks his head out the cab window to get a better view.

"I wish I lived there. Looks totally sweet." He beams, leaning back and watching my expression. I shoot him a similar grin, pleased to see him so happy. Breaking the rules is worth it a thousand times over to see him smile like that.

"So, anyway, what is this place like? You seem to like it."

"Bel Canto? It's great! The food is amazing and the entertainment that comes with it is supremely cool. I've only been twice, but I made sure to go every time I came up."

"I think I've heard of it before. Isn't it a type of-"

* * *

"Opera?!" I ask, dumbfounded. The woman nods, leading us to our table.

"Yes, the next performance will be in about five minutes. I'll bring you your menus and you can get settled in. I'll send over your waitress to fetch you your drinks in a minute."

"Thank you." Cartman replies charmingly, smiling gratefully at her. She blushes, and I can't help but feel a little jealous – no matter how preposterous it seems.

"It certainly is romantic in here." I sigh, shooting her a sour look. "What food do you recommend, babe?"

He has this smug grin on his face as she leaves, watching me knowingly as I sink slightly in my seat. What was I thinking?

"Are you quite alright there,  _Kahl?_ "He asks teasingly, opening his menu.

"I'm fine, I just… you should've seen how she was looking at you, I was trying to save you the trouble of putting up with her, that's all."

"Okay, Kyle. Sure." He grins, seeming immensely pleased at my reaction. He gestures over one of the waitresses, ordering a bottle of champagne.

"Oh no you  _didn't_  just do that. If we turn up pissed tonight they'll know exactly what we did. It's hardly the best thing for you to spend your money on, anyway."

"Better than whatever shit my mother would spend it on. It's a treat Kyle, just enjoy it, okay? Let your hair down."

"If they figure out you're underage than they'll kill me too, you know that right?"

"Unbunch your panties, honestly. They'll have no idea as long as you keep your cool. Just focus on what you want to order. I'm paying, so just get whatever you want. I'm staying for desert so I expect you to partake as well."

"I don't think my body could handle all the sugar. I'll probably just have a cheese board or something."

"You're so fucking boring, Jew. Their fondant is killer. So is the pork cheek, so tender and juicy and delicious…"

"Piss off Cartman," I grumble, deciding on a simple salad for my starter. He orders foie gras (unsurprisingly, the typical fat bastard), and his pork (just to irritate me, I'd imagine) while I settle for salmon. The bottle arrives, and I reluctantly accept a flute.

"To rule breaking." Eric declares, chinking our glasses in a toast. I take a hesitant sip, but it is absolutely delicious, not harsh as I'd come to expect. I happily drink, feeling rather overwhelmed by the whole situation as our eyes meet. I feel like I'm in some surreal romance film, being seduced by a tall mysterious stranger.

"You should wear suits more often, Kyle… oh, I think the show is starting."

* * *

He sips delicately from his glass – his fourth of the evening – as he brings his spoon to his lips, savouring the chocolate as he licks up all of the sticky residue from the silverware. The night had advanced quickly, the sky stained inky black beyond the windows. I play with a stray rose petal as I allow myself to digest the last of the camembert, washing it down with a light sip of golden champagne. I have to admit, this place is far from bad. However, I'd never thought Eric could have such class, such taste. The opera had taken me completely by surprise, but once I saw him lose himself in the music I don't know how I could ever have doubted it.

The piano resumes, beginning with a vaguely familiar, almost sombre melody that lifts to a slightly more joyful one. The tenor begins to sing, voice heavy with passion and grace. A large smile stretches across Eric's face as he hears the tune, his eyes meeting my own.

"This is one of my favourites -  _Una Furtiva Lagrima._ From some Italian opera. Just listen, it's beautiful."

"You know this one by name? I must have seriously misjudged your musical tastes."

"Don't get me wrong, I love my metal, but some of these arias just- ugh, it's hard to explain. Anyway, I should know this one, I requested it."

"You did? I didn't think they took requests. Why this one?"

"Money can be quite persuasive. Just listen to it, lose yourself in the music." He whispers, closing his eyes and focusing on the tune. I do the same, allowing the tune to fill me, consume me, enchant me. He opens his mouth to sing along, in perfect inflection with the singer. His tone is perfect, the melody smooth and sweet as fresh honey, syrupy thick with passion, masking the Italian with his native tongue.

_"What more searching need I do, what more searching need I do?_

_She loves me! Yes, she loves me, I see it. I see it._

_For just an instant the beating of her beautiful heart I could feel!_

_As if my sighs were hers, and her sighs were mine!_

_The beating, the beating of her heart I could feel, to merge my sighs with hers..._

_Heavens! Yes, I could die! I could ask for nothing more, nothing more._

_Oh, heavens! Yes, I could, I could die! I could ask for nothing more, nothing more._

_Yes, I could die! Yes, I could die of love…"_

I open my eyes as the crowd applauds, meeting his fixed gaze. I hold his stare, unable to tear my eyes away from his. He eventually breaks the connection, taking a sip of his drink. I clear my throat, swallowing thickly as my mind reels with hundreds of different emotions, surging through me all at once.

"That was beautiful." I whisper, voice small and gravelly, rough in my throat. I take a drink to soothe me both mentally and physically, hydrating my suddenly dry mouth. Before I have time to register, my lips find his in a perfect collision, desperate and starving for one another. He licks at my lip to ask permission, causing me to shiver and my hairs to stand on end. I open my mouth further, allowing him entry. The kiss is passionate and needy, famished tongues savouring one another, a frantic war dance. Being bent over the table is hardly comfortable, but I could spend my entire life hanging from a building and still be thankful for a fleeting taste of those dulcet lips, surprisingly soft and pink.

My cheeks flare violently as we pull back, the waitress coming to clear our table. Our eyes meet briefly as she awkwardly scrambles to get our plates. He breathlessly asks for the bill, sounding as flushed as I feel.

"Oh…" I murmur, trying to recompose myself with a change of topic. "How did you like the play? Did it help?"

"It was okay, it made a lot more sense seeing it happen than just reading it. I didn't see much of it though."

"Idiot. If you'd focused on something productive instead of trying to distract me you wouldn't have to worry."

"Please help me with it. I don't want to fail." He pleads, pulling a face he knows I can't refuse.

"Fine." I reply, rolling my eyes at him. "It's really not that hard, you just need to know the story and a few quotes to analyse in the test."

"You need to  _know_  the quotes? Shit, I don't even remember where my socks are."

"It's easy, just read and revise them. Keep saying them, and think about what they mean to you. Identify with the quote so it sticks."

"Do you remember any?" He asks, getting up from the table as he pays, giving the waitress a twenty. We walk outside, the harsh evening air nipping at our exposed fingers and chilling us to the bone. By instinct, we gravitate toward each other, sharing body heat. I feel his arms pull me in, holding me in a tight embrace. I see my breath dance in the air, mingling with his as the vapour ascends toward the skies.

"Give me my Romeo, and when he shall die, take him and cut him out in little stars…" I begin, watching the clouds meander across the dark expanse of sky. "He will make the face of heaven so fine, that all the world will be in love with night… and pay no worship to the garish sun."

We stand in silence, relishing each other's heat. He doesn't respond, merely holding me closer, hands tightening around me as I bury my head into his shoulder. The material of his suit is pleasant against my face, and as he begins to hum a sweet tune, the gentle melody is cashmere and silk, soothing to the ears and warming to the spirit.

We get into the taxi, this time sat beside one another, my head resting upon his shoulder as we leave. I'm only a little tipsy, but I can tell Eric is somewhat drunk. His words flow more easily, his censors impaired and his defences lowered. He seems to have no qualms in expressing affection, and I'm far from complaining.

"I swear," He begins, running his hand through my curls. "That suit will be the death of me. I don't quite know how I lasted so long without tearing it to shreds and ravishing you. Making you mine right there on the table, bent double and begging for more. Bet you'd like that, huh?"

" _Don't_ , Eric. Not now. We can have some fun later, I promise… You know I don't really feel ready for that yet. I've gone down that road before and it wasn't pretty, I just want to wait a bit."

"Is it that you don't trust me? I understand, it's okay.  _Look at me._ I get it. I'd feel the same."

"You know that's not what I meant. I just don't really trust either of us. I want whatever this is to work out, and I  _like_  you, okay? I don't want to fuck this up."

He smiles, pressing his lips to my forehead. His breath dances over my scalp, causing me to shudder. He feels the tremor, smirking against my skin as he gets an idea. I can't contain my gasp as I feel his lips clamp over my earlobe, licking at the skin and eliciting an unexpected breathy moan. My hand flies to my mouth, the other pushing at him to get some distance between us.

"No way. Not in the car. Try to keep it together, okay?" I scold him, wiping at the damp skin. "If you're good I have a present for you when we get back to the hotel."

"A sexy present?" He asks, ever hopeful.

"Perhaps." I tease, kissing him once more. "You'll have to wait and see."

* * *

**Ooh, Kyle's revenge~**

**Thank you so much for reviewing, and lots of love to everyone that favourites and follows - you make it all worthwhile :)**

**I hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you next time. Have a wonderful week.**

**-NocturnalLament**


	19. Revenge (NSFW)

**A.N. Sorry for the wait, I was supremely busy and I unfortunately had to prioritize (I hate bloody priorities)  so I had Very little writing time. Gladly though, I'm done and I bring you chapter nineteen. I can't believe how long this fic is getting, and I couldn't do it without all of my lovely readers, supporters and reviewers! You are all amazing.**

**I'm going to throw it out there that you should enjoy the fluff in this chapter, things might get a lot more difficult for dear Kyle very soon. I'm not going to spoil anything yet but things might get pretty angsty in the next chapters - we can't have a decent story without conflict now, can we?**

 

* * *

 

"We made it…" Cartman sighs, breathing heavily as he rests his weight against the wall of the lift, chewing on his bottom lip as he breathes heavily. He tries to take in as much oxygen as he can to recover from the frantic dash to the door, afraid to be seen by anyone familiar. His broad chest rises and falls as he inhales, in rhythm with the heavy thud of his heart.

"We're not off the hook just yet. There could be someone in the corridor that could rat us out. Keep your eyes peeled." I reply, breath slightly laboured from an uneasy combination of exertion and fear. "If my mother found out I'd be dead, we can't risk being spotted dressed like  _this_."

"Don't sweat it," he dismisses with a wave of his hand, trying to calm me with his assurance. "I do this stuff all the time."

As the metallic doors part he quickly surveys our surroundings, giving me a quick nod to confirm the hallways are indeed empty. We jog over to our room, swiping our keycards and entering before anyone could notice our presence. Eric shoots me an ' _I told you so'_  look, grinning smugly as he flops into the desk chair, loosening his tie and discarding his jacket on the floor beside him.

Relieved to see we'd made it back safely, I approach him and mount his hips, finding my own seat in his lap. I balance myself by linking my hands behind his neck as he hums contentedly into my neck, nipping at the skin as his hungry hands snake around my waist.

"I told you it would work out." He murmurs, the hot breath against the sensitive skin causing me to shiver in his arms. I open my mouth to speak, but as his tongue traces a slick line up my jugular it turns into a low moan - escaping my throat involuntarily. Remembering my previous plight, I reluctantly pull myself from his lap, determined to take control; see him begging and pleading. To humiliate him even more that he'd done to me, mere hours beforehand.

Giving him a quick parting peck on the lips, I smirk to myself as I formulate my plan.

"Kyle? Where are you going…?" He asks, confused as I kneel behind him, removing my tie. I grab at his wrists, pulling them together as I entangle them with the silken fabric, winding the material around a wooden bar across the back of the chair. I pull the fabric tightly, securing the knots as he grunts at the sudden pressure.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He asks, tugging experimentally at the bindings and growing concerned once he realizes he is unable to free himself. "I can't use my hands."

"That's the idea, genius." I grin, the snide remark causing him to growl under his breath, tugging at his hands once more.

"Let me out now, it's not funny. Kyle I  _swear to god…"_

"What?" I ask, brow raised mockingly as I toy with his collar, pleased that he is unable to respond to my teasing touches. "You'll do what?"

He grits his teeth defiantly, cheeks heating as his eyes narrow, angrily glaring in my direction. Unfazed, I begin to suckle at his neck, leaving my mark as I begin to unbutton his dress shirt. He drives me mad dressed like this, but I'm sure out of the suit he'll look even sexier. He whimpers as I ravish his neck, unwillingly submissive as my weight prevents him from moving his legs. I nip and suck at the exposed flesh, leaving it raw and flushed, clearly marked. A sign of ownership, a bold claim. ' _This is_ _ **mine**_ _.'_

"Don't waste your energy." I whisper, my heated voice low and seductive in is ear. "I'm not letting you go until I'm done with you."

"What the fuck did  _I_  do? If you're horny just say so, you don't need to bloody  _tie me up-"_

"Really? You think you can get away with what you did on the bus?"

He grumbles, tugging again at his arms feebly as his muscles tense, contracting at my sudden touch. Once his shirt is undone, I can't help but take the opportunity to roam his body, explore each curve and crevice and commit this immaculate piece of artwork to memory.

I can tell he has body confidence issues, and put honestly there is no question as to why. His body is quite bulky, his ample muscle hidden by a few extra pounds of fat. Sure, his weight is above average by most standards, but it suits him well. His body type is compatible with the extra fat, and if anything it only serves to give him more of that unique charm. His wide frame is strangely appealing, and while I'd never considered myself as a 'chubby-chaser' per se I can definitely see the appeal. His body is like a sculpture, the embodiment of an ancient king or of a revered God. However, the flesh is supple, less firm than marble and velvety soft. His temperature is feverish, heart convulsing in his chest and blood thick with lust. This is no art, this is human. This is Eric, and I am determined to make him indulge in that humanity, to make him  _feel._

My hands find his shoulders, thick and meaty, undeniably masculine. They turn me on to a shameful degree, the feeling of his bulky muscle twitching in my palms sending a jolt right to my cock. I exhale raggedly, hands trailing downward. He visibly tenses as my hands near his stomach, eyes shimmering with vulnerability as his dismal self-esteem gets a hold of him. I kiss him affectionately, praising his warm skin with my lips to calm him, to help him see everything is okay. I try to reassure him directly, punctuation my words with gentle kisses along his torso.

"Don't..."  _Kiss_  "You dare…"  _Kiss "_ Doubt yourself. " My lips begin to travel downward across his stomach, keeping my movements slow as I near the area that plagues his confidence the most. "You are perfect the way you are."  _Kiss_ "…And I wouldn't have it any other way."

I don't have to look upward to sense the beaming smile that dances across his lips, eyes lighting up as he sighs contentedly. My own lips break into a pleased smile, mouth moving those couple of centimetres further to reach his waistband.

"You turn me on so much." I murmur, hoping to help soothe his nerves. "You're so fucking hot."

I pull down the zip of is trousers, sliding my hands underneath the fabric to pull them from his legs. He lifts his hips to assist me, bucking again impatiently as my hands ghost tantalizingly across the fabric of my boxers.

"Take yours off too. I want you to strip for me."

I roll my eyes, not wanting to take orders but finding the concept rather appealing, even if I wouldn't dare to admit it. I give in reluctantly, standing once more as I give myself space to remove my clothing. Still determined to tease him, I slowly remove my jacket, tossing it onto the bed before going for my shirt. I unbutton the garment at a tantalizing pace, gradually revealing more and more of my pale chest. He leans forward attentively, as close as his bound arms will allow him. I smirk playfully, removing the trousers to reveal another item he'd unknowingly purchased.

" _Fuck_. I don't think I've seen you in those before." He breathlessly notes, eyes roaming over my exposed body. "They look expensive… and insanely hot."

"You should know," I grin. "You paid for them."

"You sneaky  _motherfucker_." He growls, sparing a brief glare at me before returning to his examination of my new apparel. "You could at least show me your gratitude. Give me a little twirl."

A  _twirl_? Does he think I'm a five year old girl trying on fairy costumes? He has a point, and I'm sure he'll be more than pleased to get a glimpse of my ass, anyway. I spin on the spot, moving slowly so he gets a nice view from all angles before turning to face him again.

"There. Satisfied?"

"So very. However, I find that my enjoyment was impaired by the fact that a certain  _growing problem_  of mine seems rather neglected."

"You're sick." I retort, voice serious but contradicted by my movements as I go to relieve him of his boxers. Once his blatant need is released from the confines of the fabric he exhales shakily, rigid cock springing free. I lick my lips subconsciously at the sight, glancing up at Eric's lustful expression as my tongue enticingly trails across his slit, causing him to hiss in pleasure. The musk of his arousal fills my nostrils, and the distinctive taste of sex and sweat in his skin has my cock begging for attention. I take him in fully, and his impressive length twitches against my tongue, causing me to groan as I feel his pulse race through my lips. The vibrations of my vocal chords cause him to moan in ecstasy, unable to withhold his pleasured sounds in response to the sudden sensations. Wanting to hear more of his delicious, desire-wrecked voice, I take him in deeper, feeling his head near the back of my throat before pulling back – afraid to gag. He swears profusely as I try again, taking him in as far as I can stand before sputtering, pulling back hastily. It's not quite as easy as it looks in porn, I conclude, but Eric seems perfectly pleased anyway. I return to my steady rhythm, secretly loving his little insistent thrusts upward as he shivers in rapture, consumed by the bliss – the pleasures of my hot, wet mouth. The thought has me impossibly hard in my boxers, and the tang of precome on my tongue indicates he doesn't have much long left.

This is going to be  _fun_.

I let loose, sucking hard as I speed my movements, causing him to moan unabashedly, tugging absently at his bound hands, desperate to run his fingers through my hair. I feel him throb against my tongue, his thighs tensing as he struggles to ground himself in the pleasure.

"Fuck Kyle, I'm-" He begins, throwing his head back as his orgasm sneaks up on him full force. I pull backward, grinning devilishly. He gasps at the loss of sensation, thrown back into reality as if he'd jumped into arctic waters. He breathes deeply for a few seconds in an attempt to regain his voice, glaring at me as his chest rises and falls violently.

" _What the_ _ **HELL**_ _. You can't just do that!"_ He whines, bucking his hips subconsciously, famished for the pleasure that had previously been drowning him. He growls viciously, tugging at his wrists despite the futility of the action. "Kyle I'm seriously."

"Not nice when the tables are turned, is it?" I tease, sly smile tugging at my features as he glares daggers at me, seemingly trying to melt my skin off with his gaze alone. "What else did you expect? I'm not just going to let you fuck with me like that and not get my revenge."

"Goddamn it… Look, okay.  _Please_ Kahl _. Please_ let me finish."

"Perhaps I will… but I naturally want what's mine, and you seem to be forgetting I've been left waiting much longer. I think it would make more sense if  _I_  came first,  _don't you think?"_

"Fuck you Jew! I swear I'll kill-" His breath catches in his throat as my fingers ghost across his shaft, drawing his attention back to how desperately he craved his release. His brows furrow, eyeing my cock, thick with arousal and heavy between my legs. I can't help but widen my smirk as he watches me hungrily, almost predatory – loving the sight of my erection strained against my boxers, wetting the new, pristine fabric with a dark spot of precome.

"Hmm, perhaps I could oblige. Of course, I don't exactly see how I can rectify the situation with my hands behind my back,  _could I?"_ He retorts, voice enticingly gravelly yet mimicking my previous mocking tone. I gladly release him, feeling a little guilty as he rubs at his sore wrists. My misplaced doubt is soon disregarded, thankfully, as he dives forward, hurriedly pulling me free from my boxers. He glances up at me with half-lidded eyes, making a big show of lapping up every last drop of the clear fluid. I moan heartily, running my fingers through his tousled russet hair, the strands soft and surprisingly silky in my hands. He wastes no time getting down to business, taking me deep into his mouth as he suckles sweetly on the hot flesh, engulfing me in the sinful heat of his incredible mouth.

"Oh  _god."_ I groan, wrecked with pleasure. The previous teasing and the pent up frustration seems to culminate, already brining me close to the edge. I bite my lips, trying to prevent myself from crying out – clamping down until that familiar coppery taste fills my mouth. He lets out a enraptured moan, the sounds of his satisfaction causing a shiver to jolt down my spine, the vibrations of his vocal chords stimulating me in the most wicked way.

I'd originally intended to savour his submission, but that idea is quickly thrown out the window as he continues his ministrations. He has me in the palm of his hand, melting into his touch and throbbing greedily against his tongue. I'm wrapped around his fingers, and he moulds me like putty – shaping me, completing me, dominating me with my own pleasure.

"Eric I  _can't."_ I whisper, unable to form a coherent sentence. "You should move _, I'm going to come…"_

He seems immensely pleased, eyes twinkling mischievously. He watches my face, his sultry expression encouraging me to loose myself in the bliss that threatens to consume me.  _Fuck_ , those  _eyes_. I throw my head back, a primitive growl tearing from my throat as I hit a violent climax, white spots dancing behind my vision as my body shudders with the fore of it all. My cock throbs, enveloped in that wet heaven of his mouth, releasing my come in thick, hot spurts. I feel him shiver, his hands gripping my thighs like a vice - fingernails digging into my skin as he moans unabashedly around my rigid flesh.

"Holy shit." I murmur, not quite yet finding my voice. My legs feel like jelly, and I grip onto the back of the chair for support. I look down art Eric to see him shifting uncomfortably; face blazing red as he fails to meet my gaze. "Are you okay…? Wait, you didn't  _seriously_  just-"

"Shut up!" He retorts, cutting me off as he tries to cover his face with his hand, the red shade glowing fiercer and fiercer by the minute. " _Fine_. I did, but it's your fault. You're the one that left me with fucking blue balls. What did you  _expect_? God, it's so bloody embarrassing, you don't need to rub it in."

"Really?" I question, surprised yet far from disgusted. "Shit, that's really  _hot_."

"You think?" He smiles, soothing his nerves with the knowledge I actually enjoyed the thought. "It feels awful though, My stomach is all sticky and I thing I messed up the carpet."

"Just leave it, it's fine. I'm sure the staffs are well used to cleaning up all kinds of bodily fluids by now."

He chuckles, standing up slowly, trying to steady himself. He collapses onto the bed, soon followed by me. We lie in contented silence for a moment, listening to each other's laboured breathing, satisfied just to lay here forever.

After what seems like an eternity, he turns on his side, looking down at me affectionately.

"You're too perfect for your own good, you know." He muses, almost as if he was talking to himself. I grin in response, shifting closer and gladly covering his warm hand with my own once it finds its way to my cheek, stroking softly.

"Perhaps I should let you drink more often." I reply, leaning into his touch. "You're much more agreeable this way."

"You don't like me usually?" He pouts comically; expression oddly cute.

"Of course I do." I reply, not needing to consider it. "Quite a bit, actually."

"That's reassuring. Almost everyone I know hates me." He pulls me closer running his hands through my hair delicately, touching me as if I am something precious, sacred.

"That's not true!" I respond, upset he'd think that way. "You have Your mother, Kenny and Butters… and now you have me too. I'm sure there are many more people that like you."

He just laughs bitterly under his breath, but he seems touched that I made an effort.

"Don't worry about it, I'll be fine. I'm used to it." I can see the pain flash in his eyes, and my chest burns in the most awful way. I never want to have to see him like that. "I'm pretty sure one day you'll hate me too."

I put my hand over his lips, keeping them sealed.

" _Don't. Ruin. The moment."_ I insist, snuggling up against him. "I'm happier than I have been in a long time because of you. I was struggling quite a lot before I came here, I was convinced things couldn't get any better – that no one could help me… But look at me now! It still hurts, but I'm working through it! It's more than I could have hoped for, and I couldn't have done it alone." I look up at the ceiling, smile small yet incredibly genuine. "At last… I feel optimistic. You know, I think we'll be okay. I'm looking forward for the future. I don't know what's coming, but I feel more at peace with everything. God knows what might happen, but at least I won't have to face it alone."

I look over at him, expecting some kind of response. He just lies there, looking insanely pleased with himself, eyes closed and chest rising and falling in a slow regular pattern. Typical. I should be annoyed, but the sight of him looking so peaceful fills me with pleasant warmth; the long set sun liquefied in my veins, radiating a benevolent heat. I can't help but give him a quick peck on his sleeping head. I know he is oblivious, but the simple action causes my heart to pick up speed in my chest, thudding lively against my ribs.

 _Shit_. I can't help but fear I'm in too deep. A thousand 'what-if's float around in my head, but I try to dismiss them the best I can. Thinks are finally looking up for me; I can't let my own insecurities drag me down.

At last, I think we're going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

**Oh no, Kyle my poor baby.**

**I hope you enjoyed this admittedly smutty chapter, to be honest I'm not very fond of it so hopefully you guys still like it. Lots of love you all, and please review! It's so inspiring to see I made someone happy and It just makes my day to know you enjoyed reading.**

**Have a lovely day,**

**NocturnalLament**


	20. Realizations

**A.N. hello! Firstly I'd like to apologise for the massive wait for this chapter. I said I wouldn't abandon this story and I meant it, but unfortunately life has been getting in the way. Between personal problems, medical issues, work, pregnancy scares and writers block I've been having quite an unfortunate few weeks.**

**This chapter isn't really anything special, and I found it quite hard to write so I'm sorry if it's not that great. I've managed to write up a couple of future chapters though and they are quite beautiful, so please bear with me.**

**Thank you so much for reading this far, I can't believe we've reached chapter 20! I couldn't have done it without your support.**

 

* * *

 

 

"How come you're fucking the fatass?"

" _Excuse me…?"_

"We're not stupid. Alex told the theatre group he saw you all over him last week, and you keep on looking at him like a stupid love-struck chick."

My natural response is to deny his allegations, dismiss him, try my best to play it off… and that would be true, wouldn't it? We haven't technically had sex and I'm not sure I'd consider us lovers. Without taking these unnamed personal feelings into account, what are we really? Despite whatever that impulsive corner of my psyche might long for, he isn't anything clearly defined. How can I consider his thoughts when he insists on being so ambiguous about things? Regardless, there is  _something_  here, and surely it merits respecting to a degree. Torn, I just watch my accuser dumbfoundedly, a rabbit under the gaze of malicious headlights.

"I wondered if you were a fag but I honestly didn't think  _anyone_  could sink low enough to go near  _that_  asshole." Growls the mysterious boy, glowering at the scarf on my neck, wrapped tightly despite the fact we're indoors. It doesn't take a genius to guess as to why.

"Why would you listen to him? He has no idea what he's going on about, he doesn't even know us. You can't prove  _anything_." I retort, voice acidic as I ground myself, defiant and determined despite the viscous congealed saliva that seems to have suddenly made it much more difficult to swallow. "He's probably just trying to cause trouble."

"Oh, don't worry about that, we're already  _well aware_  of the situation." He mocks, dark eyes dancing with malice and eager to see me squirm. "It's been confirmed by a source  _very close_ to the action. You can't play that card; It's too late for stupid little lies. Everyone knows  _exactly_  what you are."

I think I'm going to be sick. Repressed memories come rushing to the surface, triggered by the familiarity of the situation, the weight of those dreadful words. My heart lurches in my chest as the contents of my stomach churn violently from deep within my core; hands gripped firmly around nothing in particular, knuckles white and skin stretched taught over bone.

 

" _You can't escape what you are."_

" _Everything we had is ruined because of_ _ **you.**_ _I should have never cared about you."_

" _It's_ _ **your**_ _fault they found out."_

" _You_ _ **disgust**_ _me. I hate you."_

" _ **I wish I never loved you."**_

 

Unaffected by my tightly shut eyelids, my eyes moisten slightly at the strange combination of pains – the shredding of my cheek lining by my incisors is a dull caress in comparison to the tearing of hasty sutures and the rupturing of inflamed scar tissue. The strings the bound me together, haphazard yet secure enough for me to maintain a precarious grasp, fray at the licks of the doubtful flames; the vengeful and traumatized fire.

I compose myself the best I can, the persistent gnawing at my nerves taking a backseat to self-preservation.

"Fuck you. What do you know about me, about  _him?_ You're wrong. I don't care what anyone said, they're just lying. We…" I bite my lip, brows furrowed as I try to overcome this conflicted feeling within me.

But what else is there to do?

I cant afford to make another mistake – it's my fault for leading him on this far, convincing myself we could have a chance. I need to make the best decision here, the right decision.

"There's nothing going on between us, and there never would be. I mean,  _give me some credit._ I'm not that desperate. I hate that asshole."

He seems unconvinced.

I hear a voice behind me, another strangely recognizable tone.

"Forget that stupid fag, Boyett. You're going to want to hear  _this_."

 

* * *

 

 

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

I stare blankly at the pages of my textbook, unable to focus as a myriad of thoughts fly around my mind – barbed and painful. My head aches under the pressure, the garish light from above stinging my eyes.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

"Will you fucking  _stop_  that?"

He catches the tennis ball in his hands, glancing in my direction with a perturbed look in his eyes. He absently rolls the ball in his palm, unsure whether to address me or to continue with his stupid game of catch.

"What crawled up your ass and died?" He eventually inquires, the phrase seeming more like a statement than an accusatory question. In his confusion at my demeanour he seems to have completely forgotten to fill his words with the typical venom, leaving them feeling strangely empty to my ears.

"Nothing." I reply a little too curtly. I scald myself for my tone – I'm aware that this is hardly the best situation for me to be in but I'm well aware it's not his fault. I shouldn't take this out on him, he didn't ask for this.

I should have never kissed him around other people.

I probably shouldn't have kissed him at all. Is his really someone I could trust with my heart?

...Is anyone? Perhaps I'm just too broken. Perhaps I just-

"Kyle? I'm seriously. You've been acting weird all day. What the hell is going on in that Jew brain of yours? I can hear you thinking from over here and it's giving me a headache. Spill the beans."

"It's really nothing, just a lot on my mind is all." I bite my lip absently, only noticing the involuntary action once the pain registers. "It's not a big deal, don't worry yourself about it."

"Is it your mother? She's coming to visit you later tonight, huh? I'm sure things will work out, you shouldn't stress yourself either." He speculates, mistaking my slight grimace as a confirmation of his theory. "You shouldn't let her get to you so much."

"I'll try not to." I murmur, dropping the book on my bed disinterestedly as I lie back on the duvet, picking at my cuticles in an attempt to ground myself in a simple action. We sit in silence as I pick at the base of my nail, the small flap of skin suddenly becoming incredibly interesting as I try to pry it from my finger.

I can feel his eyes on me every now and then, but I remain fixated on my hand, afraid to break concentration and fall back into the self perpetuating cycle of anxiety and doubt. I manage to pull at the skin successfully, tearing off a small strip of flesh from the digit. I hiss through my teeth at the sharp sting as my nerve endings are exposed to the air, blood seeping from the wound.

" _Fuck."_

"God damn it Kahl," he sighs frustratedly, walking over to my side to inspect the damage. "What the fuck is going on with you?"

He reaches for my hand and I instinctively tense, shrinking away from his hand. He pauses at my reaction, eyes darkening as he registers my response. Brows furrowed, he retreats – visibly hurt by my response.

I feel sick to my stomach. I'm so awful… he doesn't deserve this, hell, I'm being ridiculous.

...But why do I feel like this? The dread settles in my stomach again, weighted and ice cold, searing my insides.

"It's fine." I mutter absently, bringing my finger to my lips to lap at the blood now trailing across my palm. "It's going to be fine."

I don't know how. I guess I'll have to find a way to  _make_  it be okay.

I catch his eyes, stomach dropping at the look of concern and pure deep-seated pain that marrs his familiar features.

"I promise."

 

* * *

 

 

"Kyle! Hey, it's been too long man." Ike calls, beckoning me over enthusiastically as I enter the hall, gesturing over to the seat beside him, drawn up to an oak table decorated with stray papers and cliché complimentary mints. I sit obediently beside him, popping an imperial into my mouth as I try my best to smile reassuringly.

"Dude it's only been three days." I chuckle, my heart not really in the teasing. Being the awful little asshole he his, he picks up on my mood in an instant.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice lowered as he leans in towards me. "You can talk to me about anything, you know… speaking of which, what's the deal with the scarf? It's hardly freezing in here."

He tugs playfully at the material wrapped around my neck, and I grumble moodily. I begin to voice an aggravated retort, but I'm cut off by a familiar voice. A dreadfully familiar voice laced with a strange sweetness that seems almost sickly, a voice that ignites the dread deep within my gut.

My mother's voice.

" _Bubbe_! It's been so long since we've seen you both!" She cries, perching on the seat across from us, eyeing our uniforms to ensure nothing is out of place. She places her handbag beside her, quickly followed by dad, lugging a couple of large plastic bags with him. Oh joy, let me guess.

"We bought you some more law books Kyle." She chirps, voice cheery despite the slight narrowing of her eyes. "We figure its best to help you with your reading materials… we need to make sure your making the most of your education."

"I really am, mum," I reply, trying to sound grateful. "Don't put yourself to the trouble, they have plenty in the library and I don't want you to worry about it. I'm doing great."

She looks unconvinced, and to be honest she's probably found a way to keep track of my library record. I wouldn't be surprised, she hates to think of her little 'bubbla's' potential being  _wasted_.

Dad casts me a brief apologetic glance, and I try to smile back, wearing the usual mask of indifference.

I'm not sure that's the right term to use… I figure 'endurance' better fits the bill.

She seems to change tactics, and I'm almost pleased. 'Passive aggressive' mum tends to talk to me less than 'thinly-veiled judgement' mum.

"Oh Ike, I'm so pleased with that essay you sent me. Your father was also very impressed, I'm sure the judges will be enthralled by your talent – they'd have to be mad not to consider you for the scholarship. Your dedication is truly admirable." she drones, shooting me a condescending glance as she sings his praises. "We're so proud you work so hard towards your future."

She knows I didn't even finish the stupid thing, but I'm beginning to realize being out of her clutches like this makes me fear her wrath less and less. I've been very… preoccupied lately, and there are plenty of things I'd rather dedicate my time to that don't involve a career in law that I know full well I have no intention on pursuing.

_Like making a fool of yourself with the resident fat Nazi._

I narrow my eyes at that, the voice of reason nagging at me from the dark recesses of my mind that have been plunged into turmoil following recent events. I'm perfectly aware of how stupid it sounds, but only recently have I been able to put this whole thing in to perspective.

Ignorance is a treasured bliss, and I can't help but lament the loss of my Naive outlook regarding this entire ordeal. Now that I see the light the harsh chemical rays sear my underexposed retinas, and I can't help but long for the safety of the shade.

I thought things would be okay, that I could control it. That I wouldn't let myself get in this deep.

That no one would ever know.

The harsh light of day inevitably bought my fears to the surface, and I found I didn't have the capacity to pacify them. Can I really go on like this, bottling in these re-emerging feelings up deep within me until I explode? I don't want to hurt the others around me, the ones that care for me. It would be a death sentence for me, and for Eric too. I can't do that to us.

...But I don't want to lose what we have. Since Stan, no one has been able to make me happy like he does. Hell, I don't reckon  _anyone_ has ever had the effect on me that he does. I'm going to have to try and fix myself it this has any chance of working, but I don't know of I can. I thought I'd put myself together after Stan had broken me, but it turns out that I'd only hastily balanced the shards back into place - and Eric seems to shift gravity completely.

_Just like Stan did_

Why? Because he wanted to break me?

_No_

Then why?

_Think again. You_ _**know** _ _why._

I don't.  **I can't.**  I don't want to say it. I-

It's because…

_You loved him._

 

Blood floods my mouth as my teeth tear through the lining of my cheeks, but I barely register the pain as hundreds of thoughts bombard me at once from all directions. But how could I have not-

_Denial was always your strong suit, wasn't it?_

"Kyle? Kyle… Kyle! Hey!"

I look up, pulled from my thoughts by my fathers insistent voice. He seems rather concerned over my disposition. I try to focus on our conversation, but the insistent nagging thoughts in my skull seem to be making it rather difficult.

"'You look a little pale, are you okay?" he asks, smiling sympathetically despite the worried look in his eyes.

I swallow thickly, larynx bobbing prominently in my throat as I try to compose myself, banishing the troublesome realizations to the depths of my mind, to be addressed at a more agreeable time. I smile reassuringly, but it feels as if it just comes out as a grimace, expression tainted by worrisome thoughts.

"I'm really fine, dad. I'm just a little under the weather."

"Is your blood sugar okay Kyle? You have been keeping on top of it haven't you?"

"What? Yeah, sure. I tested my levels just after lunch."

"So," My mother starts, clearing her throat. "Regardless, did you sort it out?"

"I- huh? Sort out what?"

Her jaw tightens visibly, but fortunately dad steps in before I make more of a fool of myself.

"The electives, Kyle. How did it go?"

"Oh, right… The Law elective, it-" I start, trying to sound remotely confident in my answer. "There was a lot of interest this year, it's already well oversubscribed. They said they'd put me on the waiting list but it looks like I probably won't get in."

"I see," she responds, brows knitted on her forehead. Her eyes narrow, gaze accusatory, and I feel my stomach drop. "That's quite funny, actually. I'd chased them up about the possibility of you being given some more advanced preparatory work to help get you used to the material you'll be studying at university, and they seemed very eager to have you join. From what I hear, they need all the pupils they can get – it seems as if their funding might be cut if they can't keep their numbers up."

_fuck._

Ike glances at me apologetically, sensing where she'll go with this. I grimace, expecting shouting, a massive row… but all I get is quiet. That scares me. Angry mum? Sure, I'm used to that, but the disappointed, quiet version? She's really not pleased.

"I'm very concerned, Kyle."

"I know." I whisper, unable to meet her eyes.

"You would have never had the nerve to act like this back home. Perhaps bringing you here was a mistake."

"No, mum it really wasn't. I like it here, I just had a lapse of judgement - I swear. I won't let it happen again."

"Why are you disrespecting the wishes of your parents like this? Perhaps I'm just a failure as a mother… you're damaging your future by being so irresponsible Kyle, it breaks my heart to see you lower yourself to this. You're not even sat up straight, and you're disrespecting the dress code too! You do understand I'll have to talk to your teachers, don't you? I can't allow all of this to continue."

"I'm sorry, I-"

"No excuses, mister. And take off that stupid scarf. It's basic etiquette and discipline, you have to respect the dress code. It's not even  _cold._ If I didn't know any better I'd think you were doing it just to spite me."

"I can't…" I murmur, aware my response will frustrate her further. Still, I'm sure it would be better than the response I'd get if I followed through with her command. "I really am sorry, can't we just-"

She reaches out to grasp at my scarf but I flinch away from her hand, hardly eager to show her just how much I'd already began to 'fit in' this place. She retreats, and as I become less defensive Ike pulls at one side of the fabric, causing it to unravel and fall to the floor.

"Ike! What the fuck are you doing!" I yelp, leaning over to retrieve the garment. My efforts are in vain, however, as she seems to have already noticed the blotches on my neck - the unmistakable trail of hickeys below my jaw.

"Kyle." She growls, the quick shift in tone causing me to freeze on the spot. "Care to explain how you got those… bruises?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, young man. I think it all makes sense now. I raised you better than  _this_! I give you my trust and support and you repay me with this-  _this depravity!_ Did you not listen to the Rabbi? This is just a phase, a test from god – you need to stay on the right path to help purge yourself of your unnatural feelings, not corrupting your mind further by indulging in this sick behaviour. Now it's even effecting your schoolwork! You  _promised me_ history wouldn't repeat itself, but we're back at square one again. Do you not see he's just using you?"

"I  _know_  mum, I just wasn't thinking straight."

"You're right. You weren't... It' not too late to rise above this, bubbe."

Dads eyes meet my own for a second, torn between sympathy and disgust. I feel almost as if I'm going to vomit, but to be honest the embarrassment would be worth it just to see her covered in stomach acid and bile. I hope it would fucking  _burn_.

"This whole thing is going to get in the way of your learning."

"I know."

"You need to stop this before the same thing happens again. You need to end this before it can hurt you."

"...I know."

 

* * *

 

 

" _ **FUCK!**_ " I yell, kicking the wall again before sinking down against it, the rough brickwork scraping at my back. Hot tears threaten to form beneath my eyelids, but I try my best to resist. I don't want to cry in front of him.

"I really am sorry though Kyle. If I'd known-"

"It's fine Ike," I sigh, directing a feeble smile his way in an attempt to be reassuring. "It's not your fault. I should've known better."

"So anyway," He begins, joining me on the cold gravel floor. "Who is the mystery bloke? Someone I'd know?"

"I doubt it."

"What is he like? Tall and handsome? Big dock? Come on, spill the beans."

"I really don't want to talk about him, Ike."

He looks a little discouraged by my exasperated tone, sensing my discomfort. He moves a little closer – whether for my comfort or his own I'm not quite sure – and pulls some Werther's Originals from his pocket. I cant help but smile as he hands me one, untwisting the wrapper and popping the sweet into my mouth. He knows these are my favourites; the annoying little smartass does have  _some_  benefits.

"Another Stan, huh?"

"What do you even know about Stan? These matter are  _my_  personal problems, alright?"

"I know a lot more than you give me credit for, big bro. Don't underestimate me."

I chuckle a little at that, patting him on the back fondly.

"Seems like it." I eventually respond, grimacing at the implications of my response.

He rests his arms over my shoulders, pulling me closer to his comforting warmth. I chew at the interior of my cheeks, the hot blood mixing with my saliva as I mull over my response. What do I tell him? I'm in too deep and I know it. 

"Looks like you really screwed up, huh?"

"Ike… you don't know the half of it."

 

* * *

 

 

**A.N. Poor little Kyle is going to be coming to some difficult realizations regarding his feelings toward Eric in the next few chapters.**

**Thank you so much for reading, I love you all and this story wouldn't be possible without your support. I've been struggling to write lately, so please tell me what you think. Even a quick review really motivates me, so it really helps me out to know what you think. If you want any cameos or have any suggestions that mention it, I'd love to hear your thoughts and I'll try my best to integrate it into the story (or perhaps write you a fic if you have any ideas you'd like to see written).**

**Lots of love, and I hope to see you again soon**


	21. Parasite

**A.N. Greetings everyone! I'm back with another chapter, and its actually pretty short, sorry guys. It was pretty exhausting to write so it seemed a lot longer at first until I checked the word count. I promise the next ones will make up for it.**

**Oh, I just had to have Mr. Garrison in here at some point, it's a given. So, enjoy the update and thank you for sticking around and putting up with me for so long!**

* * *

 

"...So in 1312 when King Edward III kicked the bucket, there was a lot of confusion over who had the right to the throne..."

Concealed behind my pile of books, I scribble a hasty response before making sure the coast is clear.

_He's absolutely barmy. This is basic history, we're not in year six anymore. I've gone over the War of the Roses hundreds of times by now Ken..._

I crumple the paper into a ball, throwing it in Kenny's direction. I miss the surface of his desk but he still manages to catch it, smirking at me as he smooths out the paper. He chuckles to himself, writing his response before returning the note.

_Not like this you haven't._

"...And the parallels become increasingly clear. The Lancasters – renamed as the Lannisters, and the Yorks - who are known as the Starks, battle it out for the right to the throne. Also, in Game of Thrones, the opposing houses..."

_Bloody hell. How is he still allowed to teach again? I hardly see how this is remotely relevant to the syllabus._

I throw the note back, purposely throwing it further away from him this time, causing him to make an effort to catch it. He rolls his eyes theatrically, teasing rather than genuinely annoyed. He seems to take a moment to decide how to respond before throwing the crumpled ball violently, causing it to collide dead on with my face. I flip him off offhandedly as I read his response.

_Perhaps he has some dirt on the higher-ups. There must be something weird going on or they probably would have fired him years ago._

I return with another response of my own.

_Not everyone is a scumbag like you, Kenny. He might just be on good terms with them._

_Yeah right. Most people wouldn't go near him if their lives depended on it. There has to be something more to it, Kyle. I'd bet on it._

_Like you could even afford to, poor boy. Don't make me laugh._

_It's just a figure of speech, douchebag. Cartman is certainly rubbing off on you._

I grimace at the mentioning of his name, desperate to keep myself preoccupied from the troublesome thoughts swirling in my head. Kenny notices my shift in mood, his expression quickly growing concerned.

A new note.

_I think we need to talk._

_No. I'm_ _ dealing _ _with it, I just need you to stay out of it, okay?_

_But you're not really, are you?_

_Kenny, please. Just don't._

_Okay… but if you ever need to talk about things, I'm always here. The Kenny hotline is open 24/7_

To be honest, I'm touched by his offer. I might take him up on it... if I find a way to begin to come to terms with things myself, that is. I smile at him reassuringly, on the verge of speaking as I'm suddenly interrupted.

"Craig Tucker! This is the third time this week! Shut your gob during my class or you'll be having your  _little chats_ with the head of department instead, understood? Don't test me."

"Yes, Mr. Garrison. I won't do it again."

Craig shifts his chair away from Tweek's, looking rather pissed off by the interruption. Tweek, however, seems rather embarrassed, looking around frantically before instinctively gripping onto Craig's jumper. Eager to keep up appearances he pushes away the blonde boy, making a show of being irritated by the action. However, once the attention of the class is diverted he procures a blue thermos from his bag, passing it secretively to his blonde counterpart. His grip maintains on the flask a moment longer than it needed to, their hands meeting tenderly before drawing away, nervous to avoid arousing suspicion.

It brings a smile to my face to witness such a tender moment, a small but caring action. Is that honestly something I could expect to have with Eric? Is he really the kind of person I could be truly happy with? Even if my heart doesn't concur, there are shrill warning sirens ringing relentlessly in my head. If we were together, he could destroy me. Hell, it feels like he already is.

Distancing myself might be painful now, but I'm saving myself from the agony he'd likely put me through otherwise. I can't risk having my heart broken again, I  _can't_.

If I let him, he'd ruin me… right? It's best this way.

Another note lands on my desk, and I consider throwing it back into Kenny's face before I register that it had flown in from behind me instead. I nervously eye the paper, investigating it with a delicate hand as if it were alive and vicious. I immediately recognize the spidery scrawl of Eric's handwriting, and my breath hitches in my throat. This is preposterous! I can't even look in his general direction without my pulse accelerating to the point I fear it'll tear from my chest, a can't hear his voice without my stomach weaving into knots. We haven't spoken at all for the last 20 or so hours, and I can barely think of anything else. I briefly considered illness, but I can't lie to myself – this infatuation is so virulent, so insanely palpable that it can't be described any other way.

It's a violent addiction, a wicked need. A need for him, for anything I can get. The mere scent of him has a frankly terrifying effect on me; my body, my mind. I can't think straight, every feeling just floods my head and I battle to contain them, failing miserably. I can't pinpoint a single emotion; it's just too frightening, so foreign yet dreadfully intense. I'd honestly convinced myself I could do this, but I can't. I  _can't_  just forget him, he's burrowed under my skin like a parasite, suckling sweetly until I'm weak and empty – tearing all the emotions from my conflicted body. Does he even know what he is doing to me? Is he even aware of the way he is destroying me? He makes me sick in the most wonderful way, and the fundamental contradictions somehow make it all the more sweeter.

I smooth the parchment with a caress of my hand, hesitating before reading the message.

_We need to talk Kyle._

It seems as if everyone wants to talk lately.

I scribble my response, making sure Mr. Garrison was preoccupied before throwing it in his direction.

_Okay._

 

* * *

 

 

"This is not a mistake… this is not a mistake." I murmur to myself, biting unconsciously at the lining of my cheeks as I glare at my own reflection, trying and failing to build some semblance of courage. Thee feelings aren't going anywhere and I know it's inevitable that I'll have to face reality sooner or later, but knowing I'll be facing him after all of this avoidance and dwelling fills me with the venomous traces of dread.

If we're going to make this work we need to be strong; both of us. I need to pull myself together for both of our sakes.

"I can do this."

With this final resolution I compose myself. I leave the bathroom, hands trembling in anticipation as I reach the stairs.  _Almost there_ , I reassure myself.  _Two more flights of stairs to the roof._

He'd told me the passcode for the door – the number scrawled across my palm – in his note. I don't know how exactly he got it but by now I guess I've learnt not to question the method behind the madness… not for small things like this, anyhow. It's best to focus on more pressing matters.

Namely, how on  _earth_  I'm supposed to articulate my thoughts and feelings when I barely even understand them myself.

"Hey fag!"

Perfect.

"Fag wait up!"

I spare him a glance and I wish I didn't.  _This_  asshole again – some blonde homophobe with a penchant for inflicting misery. He makes me uneasy with his mere presence, his character so blatantly unsavoury that he seems like some thug from the dark recesses of the shitholes of London or some ex-inhabitant of a young offender institution. I speed my pace but he's almost a good foot taller than me, and in a few large strides he catches up with frightful ease. He has that natural intimidating bulk, and unlike Eric whose most incapacitating move would most likely be sitting on his enemies his larger weight is pure muscle. He's clad in a painfully clichéd denim jacket, sans sleeves as if he is dead set on appearing like some second rate movie villain from some low budget school drama with an unimaginative costume designer. I briefly consider vocalising these thoughts, but the way his hand clamps over my seemingly lanky shoulder – muscles rippling in his arm as he does so – reminds me that this is one enemy that I really don't want to be giving extra ammunition.

"You seem to be in a hurry. Off to see the loverboy?" He taunts, with all the grace and maturity of a twelve year old.

I bite my tongue, but the malicious twinkle in his eyes rouses my untamed fury. I clench my fists tightly, fantasizing about how I would feel to have this fuckers jaw against my knuckles.

"Well? Speak up bitch. I can't hear you…"

"You know what? Yes. Yes I am." I spit, voice acidic and patronisingly tart. His eyes narrow reflexively, taken aback by my boldness. I would scold myself for such brazen behaviour, but I don't care anymore... It felt  _good_. Eric really has been rubbing off on me.

"You still going on with that? You're stupider than I'd given you credit for. It's a shame, really. Perhaps all that cock sucking has gotten to your head."

"I don't give a damn about what you think. You don't know what's good for me! I'm not going to let anyone ruin this for me again, so you can just back off."

"Hmm, you think huh?" He ponders thematically, hand poised thoughtfully at his chin. "...But I know what's bad for you, and you're lucky I'm considerate enough to let you know that that boy is bad news. God knows what kind of mess you'd get into otherwise."

"You don't know him like I do. It's not your call to make."

"You honestly don't believe me? Just think about this for a second then try and tell me that again with a straight face."

"I don't need to listen to your cheap scare tactics."

"Scare tactics? Why would I need those when the truth is much more revealing. You didn't honestly think he loved you, did you?"

That  _hurt_. I cover the ache with a sneer, his words a punch in the gut.

"Fuck off. I don't need to deal with this."

"Who do you think it was that sold you out, kid?" He chuckles darkly, reclining against the wall. "Who close to you would have done such a thing? Confirmed everyone's suspicions and doomed any happiness you could have here?"

"I don't care. You can tell him to leave me the fuck alone."

"Why don't you tell him yourself…? You know, you should ask the fat kid about this, he might have some  _interesting_  things to say on the matter. You didn't really think you could trust him, did you?"

It takes a minute for his words to register, but once they sink in they burn like a caustic chemical spill, searing those frightful sentences right into my vulnerable and exposed skin.

"But… he wouldn't. He didn't. You're just a lying-"

"Keep telling yourself that. Anyway… I have some things to attend to." He dismisses me, tuning away from my shocked gaze. "Make sure to keep everything I've said in mind."

I don't even register my knees giving way until my back falls against the wall, shirt riding up as I slide to the floor.  _Holy shit._ I hear him walking away, but my sense of direction is faulty as the footsteps reverberate in my skull.

He's lying, he has to be! There's no way it could be true, it just can't. He would never…

He would  _never._ He couldn't, could he?

I feel bile rise in my throat as I bury my head between my knees. Of course he would. I'd be mad to think otherwise.

I feel something in me tear, a rupture of something deep within my chest as a pregnant sob is pulled from my throat, thick with loathing.

_You idiot. You've done it again._

 

* * *

**I'm such an awful person. How dare I do this to Kyle.**

**Anyway, a massive thank you to all my wonderful readers and hugs to everyone that leaves a review, you make it so much easier to get this thing written. I actually have a pretty solid idea of where this story is going now and I can say that things are only just getting started. This is already a pretty big fic, but the recognition in the Kyman community has been amazing. I've never seen a fanfiction take off like this so quickly, especially a work in progress - and I owe it all to you guys.**

**Lots of love, and have a great day**

**-NocturnalLament**


	22. Revelations

**A.N. Sorry again for the delay! Between lots of personal troubles and a very badly broken finger it was a bit of a strain to get this done, but I'm glad to finally update for you guys. I've written two oneshots in the meantime as requests from people, so I've still been working hard - I'd love it if you'd check them out :)**

**It's another pretty depressing one but hey ho. The next chapters should be happier and I already have bits of them written so the next few updates should be much quicker. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I've been feeling pretty uninspired and generally shitty so any love you can spare is greatly appreciated, even if you just let me know what you liked in the story or what you want to see in the future it still means a lot to me.**

**Without further ado, I give you chapter 22 of Nothing to Lose...**

* * *

I'd smelt him before I'd seen him.

I'd begin to worry – in spite of myself – as I'd watched the sunlight die through the bedroom window. The chill had slithered in through the narrow parting between the glass and its frame, yet I couldn't bring myself to cross the room to close it; the prospect of even such a simple movement seemingly daunting. Fingers had absently drummed against the unopened textbook upon my lap, but it was soon discarded as I feel deeper and deeper into my contemplation.

The door had swung open, air suddenly becoming thick with tension and smoke. I crinkle my nose at the pungent scent; the remnants of many long burnt cigarettes had clung to his clothes, as if desperate to leave something behind to mark their existence. I'm used to a trace lingering about him, but it's painfully apparent he'd  _really_  been going at it. The realization stirs a twinge of guilt within me, knowing it was probably just a poor attempt at coping with me ditching him like that.

"Where were you?" I ask, voice a timid murmur that seems to resonate painfully in the silence. He exhales frustratedly, running nicotine stained fingers though his hair before opening his underwear drawer.

"Where were  _ **you**_?" he spits bitterly, digging around in the fabric before procuring something from the pile, smirking triumphantly.

I feel my heart sink as he slumps onto his bed, translucent amber liquid sloshing around in the bottle as he does so.

_It's my fault._

He brings it to his lips, chugging straight from the bottle as if it was water. My throat burns vicariously, stomach churning.

_He's acting just like Stan._

The one thing I'd been afraid of, the thing I'd been terrified of. How can I let history repeat itself like this?

I really fucked up.

"Do you really need that?" I sigh, reclining back against my pillows. "It's not good for you, you know."

"Jesus  _Christ_. Surely you can cut me some slack for once. You seem dead set on fucking me over but surely you can at least give me that."

"Fucking you over? What is this, some kind of reverse tactic? If anyone is fucking anyone over it's you. You think I  _want_  to upset you? You bring it all on yourself."

"I don't know what you're thinking. You're not even making sense! Do you think you have some claim over me, just because I'm your latest victim or some shit? I can do what I want. If you have free licence to hurt me you can't get angry when I do something remotely harmful to myself. It's my body, not yours."

I bury my head into the silken fabric, biting back the threat of angry tears. It's so unfair.

"I don't think about you that way… believe it or not I actually  _care_  about you – god knows why. This was a mistake; I should have  _never_  trusted you."

I spit out the words as if they were smouldering venom, and by the look on his face they might have well have been.

Syllables laced with poison, words dripping with bitter malice.

I know I should feel awful, but I feel almost drunk on the power. The weighty words had crushed him, and in my hysteria I was almost delirious with joy to see him suffer. Suffer the way I've been suffering.

The disingenuous façade was beginning to slip. I can't contain the savage fury within me, the sinking betrayal.

"You ruined me." I hiss, a heavy sob breaking the words. "You sold me out. Don't play stupid."

"What on earth-"

"It's just like before… I should have known. Why did you do it, huh? Wanted to beat me? Crush me? Well,  _well fucking done_. You've done it."

"I didn't 'sell you out', I don't even know-"

" _ **ENOUGH**_ _!_ I'm fucking _sick_ of all of these _lies._ You told them about _us,_ about  _ **me**_ _!"_

His eyes widen in shock, taking a step back so the back of his trembling knees collide with his mattress.

"But Kyle – you  _know_  that's not what I meant! It's not even a big deal! I wasn't in my right mind, I swear. No-one even cares, Kyle." He looks down at his feet in a show of shame. It must be fake,  _all_  of it.  _ **Lies**_! "I don't know what happened to make you act like this, but I swear on my life I would  _never_  mean to hurt you…"

His voice trails off, weak. He collapses onto the bed; knees against his chest had head in his hands. He takes another swig from the bottle, grimacing at the burn as it passes through his throat. Raw with emotion, he bites at his cheeks as he wipes his nose, silent tears escaping glossy eyes.

"It doesn't matter anymore. No matter what your intentions were the damage is  **done**. Do you have  _any idea_  what you did? It destroyed me last time! Why do you think I came to this shithole?  _A change of scenery?_  FUCK you."

"Kyle… no one will mind, okay? It's not as if they care. We can just go on like normal-"

" _I_ care! After everything we…" A violent sob causes me to trail off, unable to continue with all of this. "I'm not going to deal with this. I  _can't_. I'm going to sleep with Kenny tonight."

"Okay." He breathes, voice shaken.

I walk over to the door, refusing to look back at him as I take my leave.

"Goodbye, Eric." I choke, more to myself than anything. I close the door on the silence, crossing the corridor. It all feels so dreadfully  _final_.

Free from the confines of the room, I feel the tears roam freely down my cheeks.

_Fuck._

* * *

I grip the glass tightly in my palms, the surface of the liquid rippling and betraying the subtle shaking of my hands.

"I think… my brave face was so good I'd even convinced myself." I confess, taking a long sip. "I was never over him. I'd just buried it, crammed it away until it didn't hurt as much."

"Do you still love him?" Kenny asks, hand resting sympathetically on my shoulder.

"Of course not. It's just, like, the damage is still there, you know? I can't hide from it; the wounds are still there – ugly and weeping in the open air. It's disgusting."

"Perhaps trying to hide from it is part of the problem. You need to face it, be honest with yourself. Just because he hurt you back then doesn't mean you should let him ruin what you have with Cartman."

"You don't understand, Ken." I sigh, grimacing as I take another swig. The potent alcohol burns my throat, the pain reinvigorating me – making me feel  _alive_. "You're wrong about him; you don't understand how he feels."

"Trust me – I  _know_  him, okay? I've never seen him like this before. It's obvious how he really feels about you."

"You're just kidding yourself… he never loved me. He fucking  _ **told them!"**_

My grip tightens, taking out my frustrations on the beverage in my hands. I half expect it to smash in my palms, and I almost want it to. I feel destructive, perilously violent. I want to feel the shards slice into my palms, feel it disintegrate beneath the pressure of my grasp.

"Kyle… It's okay, you know. I don't understand how this is really that big of a deal. It seems daunting now but you just need to try and relax. You're just being a little paranoid."

"No. It's  _not_  okay! History is repeating itself… I was too careless, and now everything is ruined  _again_."

I groan incoherently, throwing my head back against the wall behind me. The collision was sobering, and I'd be unsurprised it the action had left a dent in the plaster.

"Again…?" He queries, reminding me he wasn't telepathic. He must think I'm mad.

"Ugh, look – this happened before, back in my last school. People finding out was just the tip of the iceberg, it was all downhill from there… I guess I'm just scared. No, I  _know_  I'm scared. Scared shitless that it's going to happen again, that I've made the same mistake. What happened before… it  _broke_  me, Kenny.  _ **He broke my fucking heart and left me for dead.**_ I just-"

A broken sob breaks off my words; misery thick in my throat as it all comes rushing back.

"I'm terrified of how I feel about him." I confess, shaking under the weight of all of these undecipherable emotions. "He could destroy me easily if he wanted, and this whole thing has me worried that's what he'd always aimed for. He  _sold me out_ , and now whenever I look at him now all I can think about is how stupid I was; how I'd let myself get hurt. All I see is a reflection – a mirror image of Stan in chocolate brown and bulk. The same me, affluent and overly trusting. I don't ever want to be there again… If I did I don't think I could cope this time."

I feel tears trace their meandering path down my cheeks, saline liquid tainting the taste of my lips.

"It would destroy me completely."

We sit in silence for a moment, letting it all sink in. Kenny seems deep in thought, unsure how to respond to my revelation. My words had surprised me too – I hadn't really come to terms with the harsh reality until now.

"Eric would never… He would  _ **never**_ want that, Kyle! He didn't know, he  _ **couldn't**_  have. He just didn't know any better. He would never knowingly hurt you, not like  _this_."

"Of  _course_  he would." I snap, unable to bring myself to believe his words. It sounds far too good to be true, too wishful. "Do you even know him at  _all?_ It was probably all a big plot to ruin me! He's a monster, I should have never thought otherwise."

Kenny bites his lip, looking a little deflated at my reasoning. He sighs through his nose, looking to the door as if to reassure himself that we were alone.

"I do know him. Ever since preschool I've been the closest he's ever come to a real friend. And you know what? Never  _in my life_  have I seen him like this, Kyle. I didn't even know if it was possible."

He lowers his voice, resting his head beside mine against the pale cream walls.

"He's been hurt too, you know. More than I can explain… and he's hurting now, Kyle. He's afraid, truthfully… He has this front he puts up; he's terrified to let people in, to let them see the  _real_  Cartman under his malicious demeanour – yet you shattered his façade completely."

Kenny gaze locks on my own, his eyes a cerulean ocean flooded with sympathy and accented by sorrow. This admission had thrown me for a loop, and I watched him wearily in my confusion.

"He's confused and a little scared about how he feels about you, sure, but he would  _ **never**_  hurt you. You mean more to him than I think he even understands himself."

"How… he feels about me?" I ask timidly, uncertain what to think.

"It's something you'll have to discuss with him." Kenny responds, traces of a smirk tugging at his lips.

* * *

It's long past the evening once I return to our room, unsure what I was going to do but feeling compelled to be there with Eric. He's sprawled out on his bed, either asleep or passed out.

I gently reach out to see, and he stirs under the brush of my fingertips. Pleased he seemed mostly alive, I settle on my respective bed, feeling around in the darkness to find the buttons of my shirt. I throw the garment to the floor carelessly, beyond worrying about how presentable I'd look tomorrow. I should've just bought five of them so I didn't have to bother hanging them up. The launderers get paid for something, at least - might as well give them some more work to do.

I kick off my trousers, allowing them to fall from beneath the duvet onto the floor at the end of my bed without a second thought. I wrap myself tightly under the downy blankets, the warmth and general feeling of being surrounded helping soothe my nerves. I frown at the discarded whiskey bottle near Eric's bed but after my visit to Kenny's room I can hardly complain.

God, everything is just so  _fucked up._

I try to relax as I close my eyes, Kenny's words nagging incessantly within the dark recesses of my mind.

_He's hurting._ I look over at him, knowing full well the truth behind that statement.

I briefly consider climbing in next to him, warming myself against his heat and melting into the safe haven of his arms. He'd probably freak out if I did. I reluctantly part from the warmth of my makeshift cocoon, crossing the room to retrieve more suitable attire. My teeth chatter as I dig around, retrieving an old pair of sweats and a stupid Muppets shirt given to me by my uncle last Hanukkah. I usually loathe it but the childish image is somewhat comforting now, the thick cotton perfect for chilly nights. Quickly dressing, I find myself drawn to the wrong side of the room.

I reach out timidly, afraid to wake him as my fingertips find his soft skin. He looks rather serene, with his brow relaxed in his state of unconsciousness. I trace the line of his eyebrows, carved immaculately into the planes of his face. I feel my heart pick up, but I bury the feelings that well up within me. I want him to open his eyes, to look at me with those dazzling mahogany orbs and tell me everything is going to be okay. My fingers roam over the bridge of his nose, the feature strong yet simultaneously adorable. The subtle curve of his cupid bow is my next destination, passing down to his slightly parted lips.

He wears a large frown in his sleep, an unwelcome remnant from our previous clashing of heads.

_I hurt him._

I want to kiss that mouth, taste the plush flesh until it is flushed and swollen under my own. I know I could never get away with it, so I settle for running my fingers across the chapped surface. Tempted, I can't resist dipping my finger in between those dulcet lips, feeling the subtle damp of the teeth within. He stirs a little, and I pull back reluctantly. I smooth out the skin one final time with a swipe of my thumb, trying to coax his expression into one a little more contented.

I screwed up big time, I know it. I should have never let the opinions of others get to me the way they did.

It reminds me of a certain someone, pitiful and straining to maintain their reputation when so much more is at stake. Hurting others just so I can have a little comfort, so that I could feel separated from the judgement of others.

Thinking about my own skin and crushing others in the process.

I can't help but feel a little nauseous.

_Eric isn't the Stan here._

"I'm sorry." I choke out, the weighty realization causing my hand to tremor slightly as I rest it against his forehead tenderly. "I really fucked up, didn't I?"

I pause as if the comatose boy could somehow respond before cautiously laying my head against his duvet, nuzzling into the fabric. It's been permeated by his scent and I can't help but inhale desperately, savouring the wonderful elixir that fills my nostrils. It's so quintessentially Cartman, and I don't want to ever deprive myself of it again.

I need to make things right.

* * *

**Next time we'll be learning Kyle's elective subject... if anyone correctly guesses what it is I'll write them a Kyman story about whatever they wish! I'll take any kind of request, so get thinking and let me know your guesses - you have nothing to lose.**

**Sorry it wan't that long, I'll try my best to make the next chapter longer. I hope you enjoyed it and I'll hopefully get back to you soon with the next chapter!** **Lots of love to everyone that reads this story, and good luck for anyone guessing. See you next time.**

**\- NocturnalLament**


	23. By the Moon and the Stars and the Sky (reprise)

**A.N. Hello wonderful readers! I'd had this written up for a while and I was really meaning to post it earlier, but unfortunately I've been having some technical problems. I'm sorry for the delay, but if my computer doesn't die on me again the next chapter should be up sooner.**

**No one managed to guess Kyle's elective - I'm not to sure 'not law' is specific enough to count. Thank you to everyone that guessed, it was fun to see your ideas! I hope you all enjoy this new chapter, it's thankfully going to be a lot happier than previous ones.It's no the end of their problems but it is a very good start.**

 

* * *

 

 

"They aren't stars at all."

 

_There is something about the night sky. The vast expanse so gargantuan that threatens to swallow up your mind if you dwell on it for too long._

 

"But surely the stars move?"

 

"Yes, everything does. It's on such a small undetectable scale in comparison to the apparent movement of everything else that what appears as movement to us is merely the rotation of the Earth. The planet orbits the sun..."

 

_No matter what happens within our fleeting lives, it is irrelevant whenever you consider things on an astronomical scale._

 

"...and the sun orbits a supermassive black hole in the centre of our galaxy..."

 

_The human existence, even the very existence of our solar system at all, is so minuscule and unimportant that it's trivial to allow such human thoughts to consume us._

 

"...and our galaxy orbits within the star system of the local group, comprised of about fifty galaxies similar to ours, all with their billions of stars and vast planetary systems on most of them. Ridiculous numbers of planets not unlike our own..."

 

_The senseless human disposition, the feelings and emotions that merely boil down to electrical impulses and simple chemistry. The firing of synapses and the_ _secretion of hormones. Hatred, envy, pain, lust. Loathing, melancholy… this crushing feeling within my chest._ _**Love** _ _… it all an illusion of an inconsequential mind._

 

"...and our local group orbits some greater centre of mass, along with the innumerable numbers of galaxies on a scale the human mind can't begin to comprehend, within this infinite stretch of uncharted space."

 

_It's comfort, perhaps. Or merely a distraction._

 

"Surely that makes you feel insignificant though?"

 

_An escape from the conflict within my brain; this pain is mere trickery of the mind. This tearing, searing of my heart is merely a construction, an unwanted fantasy._

 

"...That is what I like about it."

 

_The four letter word that sears my throat like highly corrosive acid, causes my palms to sweat and my blood to seemingly thicken in my veins._

_It's not hate, far from it._

_...But within this endless oblivion, what really is there to it? Why should the concept scare me so? We're all just animated carbon structures, soon to die and never be thought of again._

_So… why can't I bring myself to say it? One simple syllable, four measly letters._

_It's not hate._

_**Far from it.** _

 

* * *

 

 

"You have your first session of your elective today, right? After lunch?" Kenny asks, pulling the crusts from his slice of bread, discarding them on his napkin. "Do you know where you need to go and everything?"

"Yeah, I'm really fine Ken, don't worry about it. There's this guy on our floor who takes the same elective as me, he's going to show me the way."

"Who is it?" Craig asks, poking at his eggs unamusedly with his fork.

"It's the Stoley kid, you know – the stupid Star Trek guy." Eric scoffs, his food untouched.

I don't think I've ever seen him willingly turn down food, but he's eyeing his sandwich as if it was going to sprout legs and eat him whole. I feel a twinge of worry within my gut - interlaced with guilt – before I scald myself for feeling that way. He's acting like a fucking sulky asshole; I shouldn't give a damn about his eating habits.

"Careful, you sound jealous there Cartman." Kenny sniggers, the smirk being wiped off his face as Eric shoots him a death glare that could probably traumatize a small child. Sensing he'd crossed some kind of line, he seems a little perturbed; glancing between the both of us as if the reason for the shift in attitude would jump out of the air.

"I don't give a shit about what Kevin does. Hell, it's not even my bloody business what Kyle wants to do. He's a free man, you know. Let him do whatever the fuck he wants. I don't care."

"That's bullshit and you know it Cartman. You're the one always staring at him like a kicked puppy, constantly checking up on him even though he's 'just your roommate'."

"Pfft, don't let him flatter himself, I'm just protecting everyone - making sure he doesn't start on one of his sneaky Jew tricks." He eyes me pointedly, jaw visibly clenching as he speaks. "You just can't trust them at all. The lot of them are backstabbing assholes, you can't expect anything more."

No matter how much I know that this is mostly my fault for hurting him the way I did, his words are painful to hear. It's like being back at square one all over again.

"Eric, I think we need to talk. Perhaps you could..."

"Leave me alone. You're all giving me a fucking headache; I don't want to have to deal with this shit."

"Cartman…" I start, voice sounding much more feeble than I'd intended. He just grabs his bag and gets up, leaving his lunch untouched.

"No. Just Don't." He snaps, the undertone to his voice almost pleading. He looks as if he contemplates saying something more, but he decides against it. He turns on his heels, leaving me behind as he heads toward the fire exit. "Screw you guys, I need a smoke."

 

* * *

 

 

"Then what are they then?"

"Shooting stars? It's merely space debris burning up and disintegrating as it enters the Earth's atmosphere."

"...Falling to pieces."

"Yes. Either that or it's a trick of the eyes; an illusion. A fluke of the imagination. Not everything you perceive to be a 'shooting star' actually is one."

"So people wish upon stupid fucking space rocks hurtling down to the ground and dying in a big ball of flames... Seems strangely fitting, really." He sighs, shifting slightly on the faded tartan picnic blanket, trying to find a more comfortable position against the frosty earth below. "What good are wishes anyway?"

"Careful, you sound dreadfully pessimistic there." I chuckle, voice low and lightly teasing. "Just because wishes might not always come true doesn't mean you can't hope for better things. Perhaps if we put our faith in other people rather than burning rocks and tricks of the mind we'd be able to get somewhere."

He rolls his eyes. I can't see his face but I can sense him do it, and I disgruntledly elbow him for his insolence. I look over to him and catch the traces of a smirk, which in turn accentuates my contented smile even further.

He looks happier than I've seen him in a while… but that underlying timidness still remains, as if he's afraid I could turn around any minute and crush him without a second thought. Our eyes meet, and I try to give him a reassuring smile. He seems shocked at first, confused at my sudden change of heart before he returns with a grin of his own, eyes gleaming in hopeful delight.

"Look… I think I need to set things straight." I murmur, my hot breath manifesting as vapours in the typically bitter English air. "I think I fucked up."

"You think?" he quips, voice playful despite the legitimacy of the statement before dipping to a more serious tone. "You can't take all of the blame. I should have made sure you didn't mind me confirming it, I should've been  _certain_. I just… they were already pretty sure something was going on, and I guess I just crumbled and gave in to them."

He inhales deeply before turning onto his side to face me, forgetting the stars altogether. He grimaces at his own thoughts, but once our eyes meet again he seems to relax a little.

"I was proud, I think. I couldn't believe that someone like  _you_  would give the time of day to  _me_ … it was just so tempting to boast about it, to make people think I was worthy of you. I wanted them to know you were  _mine,_ and I got carried away and ended up ruining  _everything_."

"Don't say that." I insist, causing him to turn to me in confusion. "If anyone caused it to get this bad it's me. Nothing is ruined…  _We're_  not ruined."

"' _We're not ruined'?_  Seems like you're getting somewhere. Before this whole fiasco I'm sure you'd probably refuse that there's such a thing as ' _we'_." He appears very pleased by the concept; eyes softening affectionately as he reluctantly extends his arm toward my face. I briefly think he was going to caress my cheek – which I would have gladly accepted – but he still seems a little uncertain about the boundaries, opting for twirling a stray curl about his finger.

"I guess not, but I know better now. But for whatever  _this_  is to work, we're going to need to be open with each other… and I think I probably have some explaining to do."

"You don't need to. Not now, at least." Eric reassures, tugging at my strand of hair playfully. He watches me expectantly, lips upturned at the confirmation that we're in some kind of established relationship.

"No, I need to do it. Not just for you but for me too. I need to come to terms with everything, and I need your support to do it."

As soon as I admit that I need his help – that I want him, I see his walls crack. Thick shards of rubble collapse around our halcyon world, an isolated nocturnal heaven that belongs completely to us.

This moment, these feelings; this awe and this wonder… it's ours and ours alone.

And as we lie amongst the glimmering remnants, I come to realization the only thing doomed from the outset was the weighty glass ceiling falling to pieces around us, tinted blockade giving way to a far more vivid and painted world.

He smiles reassuringly, hand finding my own. Our fingers entwine tightly, clinging to one another in the measly space between our bodies. The biting cold nips at my fingertips through my gloves, but his body heat radiates across the parting between us and warms me far more efficiently than any blazing star in the vast realm of space looming above.

"Anything." Eric whispers breathlessly, heart beating rapidly against my palm. "If there's anything I can do to make you better Kyle…"

"I think… I just want to talk. I was trying to just bury everything, to leave it unaddressed in the hopes that it would magically all go away by now – but I can't be done with it until I face it. I need to come to terms with what happens so I can shut the door on that chapter of my life for good."

"Go on. If it will help you fix things I want to hear it."

 

* * *

 

 

"Holing yourself up in here isn't going to do you much good, you know."

"What the fuck do you care?" Spits the brunette, looking exasperatedly at the paper on his lap before crumpling into a ball and discarding it in the bin beside him. "I have a stupid deadline and I have no idea what the hell I'm going to paint. What, you thought there was more to it or something? I have shit to do, Jew."

"I'm not stupid. You could easily try and figure it out with the rest of the guys. We could help you with ideas, even." I appeal, voice all too eager. I just want the old Cartman back.

"As if you'd be much help. You guys could only distract me, anyhow; I'm doing you a favour by not being there."

"A favour? You must be mad. Why would you think-"

"Oh, I don't know. I  _wonder_  why I would think that, huh Kyle? It's not like I have a  _reason_  or anything."

"Don't be like that." I respond weakly, hasty desperation tainting my voice slightly. "I hate seeing you like this. Distancing yourself from me like this."

"I would've thought it was a dream come true for you. Not having to put up with your 'racist asshole' roommate? Sounds like your idea of heaven…" He bitterly grumbles. Once his eyes land on my disgruntled face he seems much more serious, apprehensively biting at the skin of his lip before deciding to be blunt. "Look, what are you trying to get at? Can you just grow the balls to be  _straight_  with me for once?"

I sit down beside him, trying to figure out what to say. I feel him tense defensively at my action, our mere proximity putting him on edge.

I fucked up. I really did… and the scariest thing is I'm not sure how to fix it.

I'm going to need to start with honesty.

"I know I'm a dick. I know I pushed you away when I shouldn't have… and I'm really sorry about it. Eric, I know we need to talk. Just- just come stargazing with me later, okay? It might help inspire your art, at least."

"Stargazing?"

"It's my elective teacher's idea. Helps me remember the constellations."

"So you chose your subject then? Astronomy?  _Really_?"

"Yes,  _really_. I'll explain later, if you want. If you'll be coming with me, of course."

I see the beginnings of a timid smile tug at the corners of his lips, the slight gleam of hope in those eyes, and it's only in this moment – heart racing, stomach churning – that I realize what I'd almost lost.

"I guess it can't hurt."

 

* * *

 

 

"So he had an alcohol problem? No wonder you pull such a face whenever I drink." Eric mumbles, words light on his lips yet perfectly audible in the chill silence that envelops us; our voices exhaled vapours dancing in the air. "I just assumed you were uptight."

"It's okay. I'd be annoyed in that situation if I didn't know either."

"I'm not annoyed," He smiles warmly, warming my lips with gentle caresses of his thumb. "I just didn't understand. It must have sucked ass."

"That's putting it lightly. He had a family history of this sort of thing, and he started drinking pretty young because of his depression. Of course I tried my best to help him at first, it just seemed like he was having a hard time… but then things started going really wrong."

I take a deep breath, trying to fortify myself so I can continue whilst remaining composed.

"We were passing notes in class. It was the standard tomfoolery, you know? It had began as the typical ' _I love you_ 's but things ended up getting a little more… lewd. It was all pretty exciting and amusing until we'd gotten a bit careless and the teacher called me out. She saw me with my note in hand and demanded that I go to the front and read it out." I grimace at the memory, cheeks reddening once more at the embarrassing nature of the situation. "I can't remember his exact words, but he'd written something about wanting to bend me over and fuck me on my desk. At first I was reluctant to read it but she insisted if I didn't she'd make me read it to my parents instead, so it was a no brainer."

"Holy shit." Eric responds, eyes widening. "What a  _bitch_! You should have gotten her fired."

"Pfft, like that would work." I scoff, rolling my eyes at his familiar insensitivity. "…And it's not like she knew the trouble it would cause."

"So he broke up with you?"

"Not really. Not at first, at least. He was furious, he blamed me for everything. He was pretty insecure and once everyone started whispering behind his back and calling him unsavoury names it really got to him. You'd have thought the world had ended from the way he acted; he blamed me for 'ruining' him. To try and quell the rumours he would act horribly to me in public, as if he was determined to make everyone think he hated my guts. Being the stupid idiot I was I hung around… I thought we could get over it together. His drinking got drastically worse; he would always get pissed off his head and come to my house in the dead of night, yelling at me before falling in a drunken stupor. I felt obliged to help him, I felt at fault despite it all. I'd clean him up and put him to bed, terrified that he'd gone too far and that we'd wake up in a puddle of vomit or that I wouldn't be able to wake him in the morning. I spent countless nights awake, staring blankly at the celling, unable to allow myself to sleep in the fear he'd choke on bile and regurgitated liquor whilst I was unconscious, and that it would be my fault for not being careful enough."

"How would that have been your fault? You weren't the one in the wrong here, for god's sake."

"I know, but I wasn't thinking straight at the time. I was still in love with him, I was so blinded by my feelings that I didn't know any better. As time went on he became increasingly distant, and I was broken-hearted because I had no idea how to fix what I'd done. He wasn't interested in sex anymore and half the time even just a simple kiss seemed beyond him. The only time we'd interact much was when he was drunk, and that mainly comprised of him hurling abuse and wishing he'd never even met me. He said some really awful things that affected me mentally for a long time, and I was  _stupid_  enough to believe his every word! I was still somehow convinced that everything could be okay one day… but not long after I had a bit of an unwelcome reality check."

I feel my fists clench at the memory, accidentally cutting off circulation to Eric's fingers in the process. His free hand finds my shoulder, gently massaging to try and release all of my tension and frustrations. I weakly smile in appreciation, shifting a little closer in need of the comfort of his body heat.

"I never told anyone this before, but it feels important that I do. I'd just buried everything, hoping that I could just forget it… but I see now I need to face this stuff in order to get over it." I swallow thickly, Adams apple bobbing in my throat as I try to gather my words.

"I was in the debate team, and some pupils had been invited to go to Manchester for some national competition. I was selected along with a few other people from the club, and we'd set off to attend. We were meant to stay the night but they had to cancel it last minute because there was a fire in the building. After about an hour into the journey we got the memo, and we had to turn back. Once we were home I figured I'd go to see Stan, to make sure he as okay and to let him know I would be around if he needed me… It had seemed like a good idea at the time. I went to his house and the back patio doors were open so I'd figured he was home. He was home, all right – along with the seemingly 'homophobic' asshole that had been bullying me for a few months beforehand." Eric's brows rise as he begins to get an idea of what had happened, hand rising upward to work at the knots in my neck instead.

"They were… on a compromising position on his living room sofa. He was fucking the douche on his knees against the armrest, stark naked with some stupid cooking show on the television. I'll never forget that moment. He hadn't heard me enter over Gordon Ramsay making a bloody soufflé, so it wasn't until I yelled at him he even realized I'd caught him! It was disgusting, I just… I asked him what the hell he was trying to do, and he scrambled across the room with a pillow over his crotch begging for me to just listen to him. I think it wasn't until that moment - when I saw him cowering and trying desperately to save his skin – that I realized just how pathetic he really was, and how moronic and gullible I must have been to have believed him for a  _minute_  when he'd said he'd loved me."

"Jesus Christ." Eric breathes, seeming unsure how to comfort me after hearing something like this. He just squeezes my hand sympathetically, trying to find the right words to say. "Kyle, you shouldn't blame yourself for trusting him. You couldn't have known-"

"Looking back, I saw the warning sirens clear as day. It made it hurt so much worse, knowing how I could have avoided the situation altogether if I'd just  _opened my eyes._  I wish I could say it was then that I'd stopped loving him, but honestly? It took months holed up in my room before I even felt fit to go back to the outside world, but there was no way I could go back to that school. Even after everything we'd been through… he didn't even contact me once. After I'd caught him with some hypocritical slut between his legs he seemingly didn't care to at least give me an apology or an explanation. It was the last I'd seen of him. Even after all this time, after my parents got me to come here in the hopes of distancing me from everything that happened… I still feel part of him with me, lingering like a foul odour in the back of my skull. It's seems pretty contradictory, but despite his unwavering presence he sometimes feels like a hazy dream - like the false conjuring of a disjointed mind viewed through clouded lenses. I know I need to let it go, but part of me is afraid of what will happen when I do. It's like once I rid myself of him everything I once was will go up in smoke, positive  _and_  negative."

"Well this was an important step, and you've got to do it. Dwelling on the past is only going to hold you back, Kyle; you need to embrace the future and leave that prick well behind you. You deserve so much more than that, fuck anyone who makes you think otherwise."

"Thanks, that… means a lot." I smile, burying my head into his chest. His hand finds its way to my hair, weaving his fingers through the curls, soothing my body and making my toes curl at the contact I'd been longing for. His other hand meanders across my back, comforting caresses helping to put me at ease. I hear the distant cries of foxes in the distance, crickets singing under the glow of the moon. The sounds of nature find their way into my veins, the rhythmic thumping of Eric's heart through his ribs filling my ears and drawing me deeper into tranquility. I feel stripped, bought back to basics – no worries, no confusion and no modern bustle. So incredibly human.

We lie there for god knows how long, listening to the gentle sounds of our synchronized breathing. I look up at him to find him wearing an expression of utter contentment, breaths hot vapour in the bitter air.

"It's getting really cold." He speaks after what seems an eternity, hand leaving my back to grasp at my fingers instead. I gladly intertwine my fingers with his, the heat of his skin warming me immediately. "Your hands are freezing."

"I'm fine." I insist, taking in another deep inhale of his heady scent. "I've lived in England my entire life – I think by now I can handle a little chilly weather."

He hums in agreement, chest vibrating slightly against my face. His other hand untangles itself from my unruly hair, grasping at the other side of my hand and rubbing it between his two larger palms. The friction brings welcome warmth, but it's the thoughtfulness of the gesture that raises my temperature more than anything else.

"We should head back in soon, I don't want us to get frostbite and the clouds are starting to ruin the view anyway."

"Hmm, okay." I sigh blissfully, body completely relaxed and more at ease than I remember being for years. "Can you just hold me for a little longer, though?"

"Gladly." He murmurs, lips finding my scalp as he breathes his response into my hair, placing dulcet kisses that threaten to have me melt completely. "If I could, I'd stay in this moment forever."

"Forever is an awfully long time." I muse, pleased with his reply. The insistent fluttering in my stomach picks up as his hands wrap around my waist, holding me close. "Do you think you could put up with me that long?"

He pulls me up a little with his arms, bringing my face up toward his own. Our foreheads meet, sweet, hot breath mingling in the space between us before our lips meet – a perfect collision that leaves me panting and desperately craving another taste. I feel like I possibly could be any more content than I am now, but naturally he seems determined to challenge this with a response that has my heart doing gymnastics between the confines of my lungs.

"It would be my pleasure."

 

* * *

 

**A.N. I'm sorry for all the teeth I may have rotted with this chapter, but I refuse all legal responsibility in case you try to send me an invoice for dental treatment.**

**Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll see you next time with some more home truths and rare moments of tenderness from the boys... until then, please consider leaving a review. It's easy not to think about it, but most fanfic writers spend countless hours writing for the fandom, and even a few words of encouragement or a little feedback about your favourite parts can really make it all feel worthwhile.**

**I couldn't do it without you all - every single one of my readers is insanely awesome, and I love you.**

**\- NocturnalLament**


	24. Words into the Fire

**A.N. Greetings again, I have returned with some more fluff for you. I hope you don't have any teeth left to rot from the last chapter...**

**I meant to get this up on the weekend but life happened, but I give you my longest chapter to date and a certain... word is used so hopefully you can all forgive me. Thank you so much to the incredible people that reviewed and commented on my last chapter; I was sat with a gigantic grin on my face for the rest of the day after hearing from you guys, so this chapter goes out to you.**

* * *

"That must have been terrible Eric, I'm sorry."

He snorts, looking up from his sketch to send a reassuring smile my way. His eyes sine with a light I hadn't seen for far too long, a captivating, shimmering joy that illuminates the room. His mouth stretches into a full grin, delectable lips framing pearly teeth. He's perfect, with his gorgeous russet locks disordered yet undeniably attractive… He's so beautiful it hurts. My heart picks up its pace, and it takes an incredible amount of self-control to prevent myself from jumping up and devouring those sweet lips, from throwing my arms around those deliciously masculine shoulders and never letting go.

"Kahl it's honestly fine. It was hardly some big fiasco, compared to the shit you went through it seems pretty petty now. He obviously only really cared for the sex but I didn't think anyone would ever give me a chance so I threw myself into it, and I got to invested without really thinking about what I was doing. I guess on some level deep within me I knew already, but when he told me he'd never loved me it still hurt. It wasn't too great for my self-esteem, before you came I wasn't exactly having the time of my life… but I'm fine now. I try and just think about the good parts, not that there were many, of course. I'd never felt for him what-" He stops himself abruptly, eyes widening in shock at his own words before he decides to play it off, hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck. "Shit, I'm rambling again, sorry."

"I like it when you talk." I insist, plopping myself down beside him on his bed and trying to catch a glimpse of what he was drawing. "Don't you dare apologise."

"Ugh, goddamn it. It's really not that hard to stay still and not ruin my picture, you know that Jew?"

"How was I supposed to know you were drawing me? Why don't you just say so I know not to move? Surely that makes more sense than sneaking around and ninja-sketching me."

"But when you know I'm drawing you it's not as natural, I like to catch you in your element. It doesn't really capture your essence properly and it makes the picture practically worthless… It just isn't  _you_."

"Fine," I smirk, mostly flattered at his obsession with drawing me. I press my lips to his forehead, and his arms find their way around my waist. He pulls me in, sketchbook falling aside forgotten as I fall into his lap, lips colliding in a dance of poetic passion. His mouth moulds perfectly against my own, the gesture soft and chaste until he nibbles at my lip, asking permission as I open my mouth to delve into his enticing warmth. The kiss is slow and heartfelt, unspoken feelings manifested in each bewitching slide of our tongues and the divine press of ravenous lips.

Breathless, we part. I can't help but eat up his flushed cheeks, heated gaze and saliva-slicked lips – I just can't believe that he's  _mine_.

"Surely you have enough pictures of me? I've seen your sketchbook… I'm not sure whether to be flattered or concerned. Drawing me sleeping is one thing but considering all the pictures I'm a little worried to have you around while I'm incapacitated like that – any day now I'll wake up with dyed hair or cocks drawn on my face."

"Yeah right, that treatment is strictly reserved for Butters. I wouldn't do that to you – granted, mostly because you'd bite off my balls if I did… but still, you're safe. I promise."

"How very reassuring." I smirk, resting my head on his shoulder as he picks up his drawing. "That's a really nice sketch, you know. Can I keep this one?"

" _This_  one? Well. To be honest I already had plans for it. I figured I needed a replacement picture for the old one above my desk. It's a bit… outdated, and we're  _moving on_  and everything so it seemed appropriate."

"Oh, that sketch of the dude…? Wait, so is that of the guy you told me about? I'm surprised you kept it."

"Well, I guess it was just something to remember him by. It was a good picture and all, and even though things didn't end well there were still some good moments. Before I didn't have anything better so I dwelled on that brief happiness I'd once found rather than trying to make better memories – but I know better now. I much prefer  _this_." Eric trails off, nuzzling into my curls. I feel him exhale through his nose and it tickles against my scalp, eliciting a quiet giggle. "I guess it sounds stupid now but it all made sense back then."

"It doesn't sound stupid, honestly. I get it – more than you think." I briefly consider whether to share everything with him, but then I feel guilty for even questioning it. We need to be totally open with each other, and to be honest if I'm going to be moving past all this I need to be sincere. I have Cartman now, I don't need to hold on to Stan in any way. Eric had been honest with me, and I owe him the same treatment. "Back when I was with Stan – earlier on, before things started going wrong – we used to exchange letters. It was very much the typical lovesick teenage drivel, talking about how much we loved each other and how we'd move away and get married as soon as we were old enough. I found a strange comfort in them, even after it all fell under it was nice to know that we'd had something real at one point. It was… I liked to know that someone could love me, you know? Because he'd liked me it made me feel like I'd been worth liking. I know it's stupid, but I've never been able to bring myself to part with them."

"Do you really want to?" He queries, not accusatory but rather understanding, comforting even.

"Yeah. At first they helped but now it's just hard to part with them because it seems so final… there wasn't a time when it felt really appropriate to get rid off them."

His arm finds its way around my waist again, pulling me closer to him. I bask in this shared warmth, the glow of his body heat soothing me in exactly the way he'd intended it to.

"Hmm, it's Easter this Sunday - is your mum coming to see you over the weekend? I think my parents are going to show up at some point. I'm a bit worried as the last visit wasn't too great but it's nice to see them again. Your mum seems really nice though, I'd love to say hi to her if you wouldn't mind. She sounds like she'd be stoked you have a boyfriend – especially one as amazing as  _me_."

"Hey, don't get so cocky." He sniggers, hitting me playfully across the back of the head. "I  _may_  have already told her about you... so it's safe to say she'd freak if she  _didn't_  get to meet you. I'm flattered you'd even want to, to be honest."

"I can tell you love her," I admit, burying my head deeper into his chest. "I want the  _full_  Eric Cartman package – and if that includes your mother I'll be more than happy to indulge her."

"You want my full package?" He insinuates lewdly, hand sliding down to my waistband. "You've changed your tune, songbird."

" _Now_  who's getting a little too cocky?" I scald, batting away his brazen hand. "I don't put out that easily."

"Ugh, always such a killjoy aren't we?" He quips, grinning mischievously until I frown. Losing his taunting look, his fingers find their way up to my face, pulling the corners of my mouth upward in an impromptu smile. "Honestly though? I'm happy to wait if you don't feel ready yet – I won't push you. Though of course, we shouldn't regress. Hopefully you can put that sweet mouth to use to hold me over."

I chuckle at his crude words, trying to appear at least a little hard done by to help conceal the thrill of arousal that coursed through me at his suggestion.

"I'm okay with that… as long as the favour is returned of course. Give and take, Eric."

"That's all very well; after all, I  _am_  developing a bit of a taste for kosher."

"You filthy pig!" I shove at him playfully, teasing voice raising an octave as he shifts his weight and sends me crashing to the floor. Groaning, I glare up at him – nonplussed by his vibrant laughter. "You stupid oaf, are you  _trying_  to get me killed?"

"That's quite the exaggeration." He refutes, rolling from the bed and landing on top of me. His hands break the fall at my sides, but he leans back onto his knees to give his arms free roam. I gasp at the sudden heat of his tongue tracing a path up my jugular and boiling my blood in the process, stopping just short of my jaw to plant a flurry of wet suckling kisses. His hands find their way under my shirt, his overheated hands firmly caressing my waist. His touch lights my synapses on fire, hairs standing on end and shivers echoing across my skin as blithe fingers find their way up to my nipple. His thumbnail ghosts across the bud, and I instinctually withdraw as some semblance of sense comes back to me.

"Wait! Eric hang on a minute. My bloody uniform-"

"How are you even worrying about that kind of thing right now?" He murmurs, husky voice sending blood rushing to both my face and my cock. "All I can think about is fucking you until you scream."

"Holy  _shit"_ I whisper, his direct words making it difficult to think. The lust turns my brain into viscous tar, bogged down by my own feral need. "Just… let me fix this."

I enthusiastically sit up, practically tearing off my blazer and throwing it to some nondescript corner of the room. Driven half-mad by the dark promise swimming Eric's half-lidded eyes, I can't move fast enough. In a matter of seconds my tie has found a new home on the floor, and my buttons fly open as I frantically rush to rid myself of the troublesome fabric of my shirt. Once I am free from its confines, I launch the garment onto my bed – well beyond worrying about the state it's in.

I gladly resume my position on the floor, and Eric wastes no time in moving to ravish me – seemingly determined to taste every inch of exposed skin. I moan involuntarily in the back of my throat as he laps at my nipple, pulling at it gently between his teeth. I emit a pleasured sigh at his ministrations, and he must be pleased at this sign of my enjoyment as I feel the corners of his lips turn up into a smile against my skin.

"Beautiful," He whispers, so quiet I could have easily missed it. "So fucking perfect."

His heated breath dances across my skin, moistening the flesh with his exhalations. A shudder runs down my spine, and my hands find his shoulders. I press him downward, and he seems more than willing to comply.

A keening sound escapes as I feel his lips linger near my waistband, expert fingers pulling the button free and darting for the zipper. He pulls down the trousers slowly at first, watching my face as I grow more and more irate that his mouth just wasn't  _on me_  already. His eyes travel downward as he removes them, but once he catches sight of the prominent bulge in my boxers he growls lowly in his throat, yanking downward to free me as soon as possible.

"Please..." I whimper, desperate to feel more of his bewitching salvation. The sound is cut of by the insistent press of his lips, wet and swollen from their previous abuse. He palms me roughly through the fabric, an I buck up desperately into his hand. The friction is ridiculously wonderful, and I'm darting for heaven at break-neck speeds.

His large palm grips at my already leaking cock, and I feel myself twitching against him in my fervent need. Just as I part my lips to let out a wanton moan my thought processes crash to a halt as I hear the door swing open.

Eric pulls back quickly, obviously pissed off as he glares at the familiar figure in the doorway – a figure bent double in laughter. The  _bastard_.

"WHAT THE  _FUCK_  KENNY!  _Does NO ONE know how to FUCKING KNOCK?!"_

"Hello to you too, fatboy. Dinner started ages ago – we figured there'd need to be a miracle or something for you to miss out on food, and I guess I was right…. Token owes me another ten quid!"

"I don't give a shit about your latest bets, asshole. If you couldn't tell we were  _busy_."

Kenny's eyes land on me, shit-eating grin widening further somehow at the sight of me flushed, crashed on the floor in nothing but tight boxer-briefs that make it clear just how  _busy_  we were. I draw my leg up a bit to help try conceal my blatant erection, much to the amusement of the perverted blonde.

"Kenny, surely you have better things to do that cockblock me here. If it's such a big deal to you mail our food to the kids in Africa… or better yet, that poor-ass family of yours. I'm sure your chav herd would gladly take it, food like this probably costs them a whole month's worth of benefits."

I see Kenny's eyes narrow, and eager to prevent a conflict I try to mediate. It's not easy when Eric Cartman is involved and I'm aware he's salty that Kenny barged in whilst we were  _preoccupied,_ that was a pretty low blow and I'm not happy with him about it. Coupled with the embarrassment at being interrupted my arousal is quickly dwindling, hard-on dying in its tracks.

"Cool it, you two. I'm hungry anyway, we can finish this another time." I stand up, pulling my trousers up my legs before reaching for my shirt. "Come on Eric, don't be a prick. I'll make it up to you next time, okay? Just come and eat with us."

* * *

"You owe me another tenner Token." Kenny proclaims proudly, sitting down in his usual seat. Token groans and Clyde buries his hands, whining something that sounds strangely like 'disgusting perverts'.

"I wish you would stop making bets about us." I complain, proclamation falling upon deaf ears. Unfazed, Eric digs in and begins to voraciously devour his venison.

Stan would have probably freaked out about eating 'poor deer'. I scoff at the thought… he's nothing like Eric, he never was – in both good ways and bad.

But I wouldn't want him any other way.

He finishes quickly, and he sits apparently deep in thought as I consume my meal at a respectable speed. Once I'm mostly done he downs the rest of his juice, looking up at me with a strange sense of purpose about him.

"Kyle, I'm gonna go sort some stuff out. I'll be back up in our room in a bit, just… don't make any other plans. Sit tight, okay?"

Confused at his intentions and with a mouth full of carrots, I just nod. He seems satisfied, hurriedly making his way to the exit. I raise a questioning bow to the others, but they seem just as confused.

* * *

Detached from time - from reality – I float in my little bubble, unaware of all but the distant light of the blazing sun dipping below the horizon. The sky shines saffron and gold, the threat of night looming above as the sun descends into the abyss. It seems so idyllic, so tranquil and wonderfully serene.

There is only one thing that could make this any better.

I hear the door open softly, announcing his return. The sound of his boots against the floor brings a smile to my face before I even fully register his arrival, but the slight upturning of lips grows into a blatantly fond grin as I feel his gentle hand on my shoulder. The heat of his palm causes my heart to skip a beat, and as I turn to look in his direction his expression mirrors my own, shimmering irises dancing in chocolate bliss.

"Come on, I have something for you." He speaks, voice low and earthly rich.

"Do you want me to close my eyes?" I respond, half teasing.

"You can if you wish, but that might make the walk a little difficult."

He grabs a folder and water bottle from his drawer before offering me his hand. I take it without hesitation, following him downstairs. Our fingers entwine as we walk, indifferent to the occasional surprised glances it invites as we leave the dorm. I'm beyond caring now.

I've gone to long allowing others to impact my own happiness.

The sun is low, concealed mostly behind the horizon. The sky is lit in lavender hues, the fading citrine glow receding below the distant forests. Our fingers stay locked - bound like a promise as we stumble over tree roots and stones as the path becomes rougher, our destination some obscure part of the surrounding woods.

Once the path ends, we encounter a bright scarlet ribbon tied around the thick base of an old oak. We follow the path of the ribbon, tracing its path deeper into the woods. I trip over various debris as we move deeper, sticks and old branches littering this uncharted stretch of the forest. Eric's grip on my hand stays firm, guiding us along the path drawn out by the material as he keeps me stable in his grip. The thick scent of soil and fauna surrounds us, rich in the cooling evening air as we eventually reach a clearing, the silken fabric bound to one final sycamore tree.

There is a pile of sticks and branches in the centre, recently arranged and undisturbed in this remote location. We could be anywhere in the world, surrounded by dense forestry and thick silence, broken only by distant whistles of late rising birds. I look at him questioningly, perching on a larger log placed before the pile of scrap wood.

He places the folder on the floor, beside his guitar case and a small bag of belongings he must have left here earlier. He unscrews the bottle, taking a swig before pouring the clear liquid over the branches.

"What was that for? I wouldn't mind having some."

"There's still half of it left…" He looks over at me before laughing to himself, shaking his head "You thought it was water? Watch."

He pulls a box of matches from his pocket, lighting several before throwing them onto the dampened wood. They catch quickly, the mystery liquid rapidly igniting as the fire grows. The scent of smoke and charcoal hits my nostrils, the thick smoke dancing upward into the swiftly darkening ultramarine skies. The wood crackles as it burns, the blazing heat warming me as the flames grow further still, the vibrant oranges and yellows licking at the smouldering bark.

I sit quietly for a while on the mossy log, joined by Eric. The heavy incense of burning oakwood swirls in the air around us, filling our nostrils with charcoal vapours. It's an oddly pleasant scent, reminiscent of barbecues and bonfire nights. The gentle warmth cradles us, flames licking at the bark and crackling as it devours the wood. I sigh contentedly, breath manifesting itself as a cloud that dissipates, fusing with the heavy smoke of the fire and dancing upward to the heavens.

At some point our hands had become entwined, fingers interlaced as my head rests gently on his shoulder. I only notice once he begins to pull away, picking up the manilla folder he'd discarded on a stump beside him – a natural pedestal. He opens it to reveal a few dozen pages littered with sketches, drawn in Eric's trademark hand… but the object that catches my eye is a translucent purple folder, textured plastic fraying at the corners. I know this folder all to well, unsurprising considering how much I'd used to cherish this thing. The memories leave a bitter taste in my mouth, and I can't help but grimace.

Catching onto my look of displeasure, Eric misinterprets it and rests a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"You can keep them if you want, I understand and I won't think any less of you if you do… but I need to give you that chance you said you never got – you can let him  _go_."

"I told you I wanted to, and I meant it. I don't need him anymore; hell, I never did. It's time to put all of this behind me.  _This_..." I take the folder in my hands to accentuate my conviction. "Is nothing but bad memories. I'm  _done_  with it."

Looking surprised and incredibly pleased by my determination, he kisses me with no warning. It's short, and he's drawn back before I could fully register what he was doing. I'm left pining silently for more – left breathless by even that brief taste – but my attention is redirected to the task at hand once Eric stands, approaching the fire.

I walk up beside him, instinctually joining our hands as I lean into him, offering mutual moral support. He seems to be willing to go first, pulling out several sheets from his folder.

"It's a shame really, those are such beautiful drawings."

"Boo-fucking-hoo. I'll draw new ones, better ones. Ones that don't have a douchebag in them." He muses, tossing them into the belly of the flame. He follows them with more, until he just gives up and throws in the whole folder. I watch it sear, contents desecrated by scalding flames as the paper begins to curl and crisp, soon reduced to nothing but embers.

I take a deep breath, encouraged by Eric's presence as I pull out the papers. I drop the folder to the ground, unwanted. At first I'm tentative, weary of getting too close to the flame. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, and I take in a deep breath before tossing the whole lot into the fire.

The silky smoke dances upward, carrying with it the ashes of our past mistakes. The embers glide through the sky like white-hot snowflakes, falling in reverse as they leave us far below. It's so strangely beautiful, the scene so serene that I don't ever want it to end.

After our own little eternity watching the fire, long after our memoirs had crumpled into dust, Eric heads back to his stump, pulling a familiar tartan blanket from his bag.

"Is that the blanket from the other day? That's so sweet."

"I bought us some lighter blankets too," He boasts, glad to have pleased me as he spreads out the big tartan material onto the ground before grabbing some smaller ones and putting them onto the makeshift mat. I settle down, wrapping the soft ivory cashmere around my shoulders to help keep me warm. "I was thinking of bringing camping stuff but there was no way I could bring all of that shit by myself out here."

"It's lovely the way it is." I insist, using another blanket as a pillow so I can recline in moderate comfort. "I can sleep like this gladly."

Pleased, he settles down beside me. I'm mesmerised by the reflection of the simmering fire that illuminates his irises, giving them a strange new life in this light. Once he notices I'd been staring, I avert my eyes as I snuggle up closer to him.

"Thank you… I mean it." I whisper, throat thick with emotions that blindsided me as soon as I'd captured his bewitching gaze. "It's so strange, but I'm glad – it feels right."

He gladly pulls me in closer, and I rest my head against his chest. I feel the steady rhythm of his breaths, a harsh juxtaposition against the rapid thunder of his heart. The gentle motions clam me greatly, and his racing pulse causes my own heart to flutter in my chest. Knowing I have this effect on him is so surreal, confusing yet ever so welcome. I'm ready for it.

"You know, I thought I'd gotten over him." I start, voice low and sincere. "But now I can see that I really hadn't. I'd just buried everything, pushed it all down deep enough that it couldn't escape."

"But you feel okay with it now?" He queries, stroking my hair fondly. I sigh at the soft gesture, loving the feeling of his fingers running through my curls.

I nod, smiling up at him before shifting up a little, settling shoulder-to-shoulder.

"I guess it took change for me to really come to terms with it. It took… someone new for me to let him  _go_." I bury my head in his neck, kissing his clavicle. I'm so consumed in him, enveloped by his arms; his scent and his affection. It makes me feel almost tearful. I'm so fucking lucky and I want him to know it. " _Thank you. More than anything."_

"Kyle… I- I think, no, I  _know_ -"

"You don't need to say it. If you're not ready than it's fine, I can wait. I don't want you to feel pressured just to make me happy."

"No, you stupid Jew, I mean it." He confesses, taking a deep breath before opening his heart, my gaze transfixed in his own captivating stare. "I'm super seriously…"

He laughs quietly to himself, the fond chuckle causing his lips to turn upward in that insanely kissable smirk.

"I'm in fucking love with you, asshole."

I sit dumbfounded, absorbed in those mesmerizing chestnut orbs. Dismayed by my silence, his smile begins to falter – reminding me of the gravity of the situation, the delicacy.

Unable to contain myself, I pounce onto him, smothering him with an onslaught of desperate kisses. We both chuckle heartily, swept up in the sheer ecstasy of the moment as the mere closeness sets my body on fire. I pull back, gazing once more into those perfect eyes to truy to communicate just how much the sentiment is returned.

"Holy shit, I love you too. So much."

He gets this adorable look about him, shit-eating grin lighting up his face like a beacon in the night. I feel so ridiculously high on emotion, intoxicated by him. My heart pounds until it hurts, rattling against my lungs as I inhale deep lungfuls of his signature scent – accentuated by sweat and smoke.

We lie entwined, kissing for long minutes; breaking apart only to briefly take in air. We slip into a rhythm, a sweet harmony that finds us lazily indulging in the others taste, grasping hungry handfuls of the other's body as we desperately seek to become even closer somehow. His lips part from mine at some point, sweeping a trail of kisses to my ear. I shudder as I feel his breath dance against my ear, raising the hairs of the back of my neck.

"Hmm, so good. I could stay here forever." He whispers, accentuating his words with a frisky nibble at my earlobe. "But I want to give something a little try."

He gets up, much to my displeasure, and crosses over to his bag. He withdraws a bottle of something, and once I see the familiar laboratory label my brows draw together in confusion.

"You are  _so_  not poisoning me." I quip, and he shoots me a mock horrified expression.

"But what about our romantic suicide pact? Let's Romeo and Juliet this shit…" He catches on that I'm not exactly impressed, and rolls his eyes facetiously. "But still, this is pretty cool. Meet my friend  _KCl_."

"Potassium Chloride? What do you have that for? Are you going to be all salty again?"

"Oh  _ha ha."_ He groans sarcastically, wrestling with the lid before managing to get to its contents. He scoops some of the white crystals into his palm before tossing them into the fire. "I nicked this from the chemistry labs for a reason – watch."

A bright violet flare burns vividly, the colour mesmerising and undoubtedly breathtaking. In the large fire it doesn't take long to consume the sample, but he dusts a large amount over the burning logs. The flame glows in wonderful lavender and violet hues, purple flames licking at the backdrop of an indigo sky.

"It's… beautiful." I mutter, breathless. "I was under the impression you hated Chemistry."

"Oh, I do." He reassures me, discarding the bottle carelessly. "But this is pretty awesome, huh?"

"I have to admit, it's pretty impressive. Could do with some musical accompaniment, perhaps?"

Compliant, he reaches for his guitar case. I rest back down, pulling the blanket closer around me as he pulls out the instrument. I smell the varnish on the wood from where I'm sat, and I can see the caution he exercises when maneuvering it – perhaps caution isn't quite the word for it. He has this reverence for it, holding it gently but firmly, it seems at home in his arms. He softly caresses the rich wood with the touch of a lover, and I'm bordering on jealousy. Testing, he plucks lightly at the strings – cocking his head slightly like he always does as he deliberates the pitch. He seems satisfied the instrument is in tune, and his eyes meet mine as he begins to play.

He picks at the strings, sound rich yet somehow light and almost airy. The soft melody feels like home, like the earthy smell of autumn and the taste of hot chocolate after a storm. It warms me instantly, more so than the fire or the blanket ever could. It's a warmth from deep within, sizzling with contentment.

" _Put your words into the fire, watch them burn your heart's desires..."_

The feeling only seems to be accentuated by his captivating voice, and I hang on every word as he parts his lips to compliment the melody with his own wonderful lullaby.

" _...Rise up in the air, in a cloud of silk and smoke and dust. Fade into the night; it's a comforting feeling with you at my side..."_

I smile up at him, and he catches my eye with that dazzling grin that I could never deny I'd fallen for. Breath catching in my throat, I grasp a fistful of ivory cashmere autonomously – completely drawn into him.

" _...Let me shake your honest hands,_ _and I'll sit down beside you now. Lean our heavy heads on the weight of the things that are left unsaid. Don't worry about it now, 'cause in the morning they will all just be ashes on the ground..."_

Enveloped in our own little bubble, we live in a little world just for us. Perhaps it's an eternity, or perhaps it's just a moment – in this suspended reality, time is irrelevant. It's just me, Eric, and the music flourishing in the space between us, filling the night with a breathtaking melody unlike any other.

" _...So what's been on your mind, eating you inside? Take all of your time; on this warm summer night, put your words down in the fire..."_

A piece of heaven just for us.

_"...When we were down at sandy beach; old man talking in young man's words. Tell me where you would like to be. Tonight don't be afraid to dream, lean on the fire for a while - 'cause in the morning it will all just be ashes on the ground."_

Wrapped up tightly under the stars, fire crackling by my side, I drift into sleep – lulled by the priceless tune of the voice of the man I love.

" _...So what's been on your mind, eating you inside? Take all of your time. On this warm summer night... put your words down in the fire."_

* * *

**I must admit I'm pretty fond of this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed it too.**

**The song Eric sings in this chapter is called 'Words in the Fire' By Patrick Watson, It's a beautiful song and you should totally check it out.**

**The 'L' word is out! I can't wait to hear from you lovely readers, and I wish you all happiness and joy and all that good stuff. Until next time, have fun and be safe**

**\- NocturnalLament**


	25. Honey Thyme and Sugar Sweet

**A.N. hello again beautiful people, I come bearing another chapter for you all. This was going to bee so much longer but I realized I could never fit in everything I wanted, so I cut it up. Next time we will be having some good old steamy fun, but first comes the meeting of the parents...**

**I now know how this fic will end for sure, and even though it's still quite a way away it's strange to know that one day it will have to finish. It's all very exciting, but I shan't spoil it for you. Until then, lots of kyman love and happiness to every one of you, especially the fabulous reviewers that make my day with their kind words - you inspire me more than you could know.**

* * *

 

 

The sun’s rays stretch wide across the morning sky, beautiful saffron and vermilion hues a beacon light to awaken the world. The first thing I register is the stiffness of my back, the dull ache of my joints. Then as I become more aware, falling from my sleep-induced haze, and I notice I’m not in my bed at all.

I sit up, the firm surface of the icy ground lessened by the tartan blanket that acts as a makeshift mattress. The smooth cashmere falls from my chest, pooling in my lap as I begin to absorb my surroundings. I hear the sweet bickering of morning birds, the fresh April dawn chorus enveloping our little corner of the woods completely. In the canopy I see the excited bustle of the morning wildlife, the occasional flash of a robin’s red breast and the swoop of a blackbird’s dark wing. Beside me, the smouldered ashes of Oakwood and bittersweet memories lie charred and black, long cooled since the death of the voracious fire. Another fire springs to mind – the one deep within, that consumes both my heart and soul alike when I dwell on it for too long.

It is a consuming fire, egged on by the presence of another.

Fittingly, I hear a groan beside me as the object of my affections reaches up to rub his sleepy eyes, mussing up his mousy russet locks with the sweep of a fatigued hand. He is my gasoline, my petrol bomb – like a searing alcohol but so much more intoxicating.

“Morning.” He grumbles, sitting up so he can move in closer to me. We sit quietly for a moment, basking in the glow of the others body heat before I startle him with a loud yawn, still feeling the aftereffects of my decent nights rest. He watches me with this odd look in his eye… something bordering on reverence, a divine fascination. His hand finds my flushed cheek and before I can even fully register he draws me in, lips insistent against my own. I gladly let him in, kissing back with a vengeance as I feel his fingers weave their way through my hair. His tongue drags across mine, wet and hot yet somehow so incredibly pure… wholesome, even. It’s if I’m being filled with love from the ground up, electricity flowing from the tips of my toes to my fingertips.

We eventually pull back, and I smile sheepishly as he pulls a disgruntled face.

“Yuck, morning breath.” He complains, well-meaning but hinting at teasing.

“Oh please, like you’re tasting any better.” I scoff, waving my hand dismissively. “It happens to everyone.”

“Whatever. I’m just glad we don’t have any more goddamn schoolwork over the break… if I had to go to class today someone would probably have found themselves in A&E with a pencil in their eye.”

I laugh cautiously, not quite sure how serious he is about the remark. It takes a moment for his words to absorb, until I snap up my head in shock and confusion.

“Wait… today is Saturday?” I question, slowly sobering up as I take in the implications.

“Of course. Did you hit your head or something? We have the whole week off too! Super long weekend for us.”

“I guess I just forgot. Your mum is coming today too isn’t she?” I ask, not wanting to pry but I can’t remember whether she’d confirmed she’d visit or not. I don’t want to sound cruel but after she didn’t show up last time I can’t help but want reassurance she’d come along.

“Yeah, she said she’d get here at half two. When's yours coming?”

“I think my dad’s coming around three. Apparently my mum is sick so she can’t make it, but he promised to come for us.”

I try to bat away the nervous thoughts flying around in my head, to dismiss the nagging questions. Is she avoiding me? Does she hate me now? Is she so ashamed she doesn’t want to be reminded I _exist_?

No… my father said she just has the flu, and there’s no use questioning it. Everything is probably fine. Probably.

“No Jew bitch this time? How disappointing. I was hoping to catapult eggs at her stupid fucking hair.”

“Shut up.” I say out of principle, secretly wishing that he would. “She’s my problem anyway, not yours. My dad is pretty reasonable; I should survive today if I’m lucky.”

“Don’t sweat it Kyle.” He reassures me, standing up and reaching out his hand to offer to lift me from my seat. “I can hear your concern from over here; it’s giving me a headache.”

I pull myself up on his arm, his sturdy frame more than enough to offer plenty of support. I follow through with the movement, casting myself forward until I find my place in his arms. He chuckles at my sudden clinginess, inhaling a lungful of my scent as I bury my head in his chest.

“…You’re really worried aren’t you?” He states, less of a question but more of an assertion. His voice has dropped to a compassionate tone, and he presses tender kisses across my forehead. “It’s going to be okay, you know.”

“I know, it’s just... ugh. I haven’t seen them for a while, and last time they figured out about us. I guess I’m just worried that they’ll not accept... _this_. I know my mother probably won’t and I’m fine with that by now, I just really want my dad to be happy for me. He should be pleased I’ve moved on and found someone that makes me happy, Right?”

I look up at him to take in his response, and I see a pleased light in his eyes as his lips turn upward in an uncharacteristically timid smile.

“I make you happy?”

“Of course you do, idiot.” I grin, cupping his cheek in my palm. “Did I not make it clear enough last night?”

“Touché, it just all seems so surreal. I’m not fucking stupid; I know full well you’re way out of my league.”

“You _sound_ stupid. I would never give you the time of day if I thought you were undeserving or whatever.” I snort at his claim, his underlying self-esteem issues peeking through the tough-man façade. “I’m here for you and you’re going to have to get used to it, whether you like it or not.”

Satisfied with my answer, he smiles wryly before slapping my ass unexpectedly. I yelp, half-heartedly glaring up at him as he laughs to himself.

“Why so cranky? You said you’re all mine right? This incredible ass seems to be part of the equation.”

I know he’s just trying to cheer me up in his own twisted way, and I have to admit it’s working. I let out a snigger in spite of myself, giving him a teasing light punch for his insolence.

“Not if you keep that up mister. I’m sure if you’re good when I meet your mum and you help me with my war wounds after my dad shows up there might be a bit of a r _eward_ in it for you.”

“I’m sold.” He beams, lifting our joined hands so he can plant a promising peck to the back of my hand. I’m about to make a remark about how subservient he’s being, but the thought is stopped in his track as he slobbers all over my hand, lapping at it with his unbrushed tongue.

“Gross dude,” I groan, wiping my hand on my shirt as he grins devilishly, pleased to see me with a smile on my face. “After that little stunt you’ll have to put that tongue to work elsewhere if you want to still have a chance at that reward.”

“Gladly. I’m hardly opposed to a little _lip service.”_ He insinuates, hand finding its way to my waist. “We should head back before they send out the search parties, anyway.”

“Whatever fatass, you're just afraid we'll miss out on lunch.”

 

* * *

 

The first thing I see is Cartman's eyes. That same trademark glimmer, the swirling depths of rich chocolate with a saccharine honey glaze. Unlike her son's usual expression however, her face is devoid of bitterness. Her smile is warm and welcoming, lips painted a decadent red. Her looks are reminiscent of a Vogue covergirl, and fifteen years previously she would have most likely seemed at home on London's most exclusive catwalks. She is still undeniably beautiful, appearance withered slightly in her age. Traces of wrinkles threaten to emerge on her forehead, brunette hair lightened by a sporadic peppering of greying hairs.

She picks up speed as she sees us through the corridor, hurriedly signing in at reception and flashing a coy glance in the receptionist’s direction. She half-jogs along, heels clacking against the elegant floor as she dashes into Eric's arms. It's easy to see where his looks had come from, and he rolls his eyes at me over her shoulder. He has a good bit of height on her, and as she draws in closer to his chest he rests his chin on her head, smiling to himself.

“Oh Poopsikins, it's so nice to finally see you! I bought you some of your favourite things and I baked you those flapjacks using the recipe you like. I even used less sugar so your special little man can have some.”

“Ugh, nasty mum. Trying to unload all of that stupid healthy shit on me.” Eric grumbles. He blushes intensely, eyes widening in shock as he grimaces at her word choice.

“You told her I was diabetic?” I chuckle, not willing to let the opportunity to embarrass him slip.

“I- I needed to warn her, you know. I told her of your many afflictions so she could prepare herself for meeting a gross Ginger Jew such as yourself.” He tries to deflect it, well aware that he was caught out and that I'm far from convinced. “Your type are cheeky bastards, you know.”

Unsurprised by her son’s behaviour, she turns to face me with a genuine grin.

“And you must be Kyle, right? I've heard so much about you! It's wonderful to finally meet you in person.”

“Yeah. You're…. Liane, right? Cartman showed me pictures. It's lovely to meet you too.”

“Come on, assholes.” Eric insists, tugging at my sleeve. “We should try and get a good place to sit.”

We end up in one of the large meeting rooms, light streaming through the skylight above as we take our seats at one of the tables. It’s mostly deserted apart from one or two other families sat at the far side, captivated by their own discussions.

“So, how is school going Eric?” Liane queries, wasting no time getting into conversation.

“It’s fine, mostly the same old shit. Nothing overly remarkable ever happens here.”

“Really? Well I've heard that your German teacher wants you to work as a tutor. I'm so proud! I bought along some of your older books you used when you were little for the other pupils, they might help.”

It was the first I'd heard of it, and I can't stop a proud smile sneaking its way onto my lips. I knew he could do well if he just applied himself. He's far from stupid – just a little lackluster when it comes to effort.

“Chill mum, it's not that big of a deal. Anyway, I need the money and I didn't finish this stupid essay she wanted so I can do with raising my grade – at least if I get one A* it'll look a lot better on my CV and I won't be flipping fucking burgers once I get out of this shithole.”

Liane just smiles, pleased he'd done well as she offers him a flapjack. He dives in, searching for the largest one he can before leaning back in his chair, dropping a few stray oats on his shirt. She offers me the box, and I teak a half of a slice out of fear of the sugar content. They rattle on about his studies, her family and his plans to audition for the upcoming musical production. I have to admit, he would make a really sexy Sweeney Todd – not that I'd tell him that in front of his mother. Their conversation is so easy, so friendly and relaxed. I can't help but feel a little jealous, seeing her talk to him as if he was a friend rather than an employee or someone incapable of living their own life and making their own decisions. I take a bite of the treat, and it’s almost as sweet as she is. The oats are soft and the honey syrup mixture seemingly melts on my tongue. Delicious. Before I know it the whole thing is gone, and I'm reaching for another.

We end up discussing me, my dreams and aspirations, my hobbies. I'm not under any pressure – she's genuinely curious and I can tell that she'd love me no matter what I'd said. The fact Eric loves me is more than enough for her, and it touches me more than she could know. The time flies as we laugh and try to embarrass Eric, sharing baby stories and chuckling over stupid jokes. At some point Eric's arm finds its way over my shoulders, pulling me closer on the sofa as I rest my head on his chest. She doesn't even blink, completely unfazed by the blatant display of male-on-male affection.

Oh god, my mother has an awful lot to learn from this woman.

We lost track of time, and before we knew it it was rapidly approaching three and the visitors were being encouraged to start saying their farewells. She pulls up her bag, overflowing with goodies and Cartman's eyes light up like fairy lights at the prospect of presents. She gives him several items ranging from the more innocent – Galaxy caramel chocolate and marshmallow scented bodywash, to the more questionable – a bottle of Jack Daniels and a carton of cigarettes. I can't help but raise my eyebrow at her endorsement of his unhealthy habits, watching him incredulously as he shoves them into his backpack. Just as I think she's done, she rummages deeper into her purse, producing a smaller carton. It takes me a minute to understand why Eric suddenly appeared as if he was on the verge of choking, but once I inspect a little closer there's no doubting that she'd deemed it necessary to give us a box of flavoured condoms.

“Jesus Christ mum.” He groans, rolling his eyes. “You really don't need to do that.”

“I just want my baby to be safe-”

“God, I can get my own! Kahl's hardly a fucking prostitute, he won't give me turbo-AIDS or dick cancer, and there certainly isn't going to be any children. I don't need you to stay on top if this stuff for me, damn it.”

His cheeks are tinged and undoubtable shade of pink, and I can't help but grin in spite of my own embarrassment. He's insanely cute when he gets all shy, and it certainly doesn't happen often. However, I can tell he’s not exactly comfortable and in an act of mercy I try to distract him.”

“Look, she means well. Just be glad she cares that much.” I interject, patting his thigh reassuringly. “Anyway, you better be sharing that shower gel with me – it sounds like it smells delicious.”

“Typical, trying to Jew me out of my shit. I guess you can try some.”

One of the receptionists comes in, gesturing for the remaining visitors to hurry up. We stand to leave, exchanging hugs and kind words. Eric seems rather distressed once she smothers him, insisting he calls her more often. His cheeks blaze a bright red, and once she releases him his face settles into a faint grimace to try and keep up appearances. She turns to me, offering a hug. I’m touched by the gesture, pleased that she’d been so accepting of me. I’m a little taller than her – not quite as much as Eric – but it’s still a comforting embrace, soothed by her motherly warmth and floral perfume.

“He really likes you, you know.” She murmurs, inches from my ear. “He’s not the best at being open about his feelings, but a mother can always tell. He’s more sensitive than he lets on – you mean an awful lot to him.”

She draws back, catching my eye. I smile at her reassuringly, silently thanking her for her encouragement and honesty.

“Now you keep an eye on him, understand? He needs _someone_ to keep him in check.” She loudly chuckles, raising her voice back to normal levels as she pats me fondly on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry; I’m on top of it. If he was running free I dread to imagine what would happen.”

We meander toward the exit, moving slowly as we continue our animated discussion, putting in early predictions for which students will make the final cut for Sweeney Todd and discussing the possibility of Eric going to Italy with the school orchestra. Just as we approach the main exit, a familiar voice calls my name.

“Kyle! Hey, I was wondering when you’d turn up. Ike was here five minutes ago.”

Oh God – it begins. I try to quell my nerves with a falsified smile, hoping that it will lift my mood and pacify him.

“It’s good to see you… but I’m surprised you had another visitor. I’m pleased to meet you, Miss..?”

“Cartman, Liane Cartman.” She responds, offering her hand. They exchange a brief shake, remaining cordial. It hits me that they are complete strangers, and I can’t help but feel concerned that if he knew why I’d been with her he wouldn’t be quite so polite. Unnerved by the situation, I cast a glance to Eric, who returns my gaze with an apologetic look in his eye. I can tell that he’s preparing a story in his head, devising an excuse to help make this whole situation seem as inconspicuous as possible. I know he hates to hold himself back and deny our relationship, and it’s reassuring to see him prepared to go out of his way to make sure I’m comfortable and not forced in to anything I’m not ready for.

But… I don’t want him to feel obliged to do that. I love him, and I’m not afraid to face it anymore. Being with him is perfection. I’m so complete with him by my side, and there’s no way this could be wrong when it feels so insanely right. We shouldn’t have to be ashamed of who we are and how we feel, and I want him to know it. Hell, I want the whole world to know it. There, I said it. I love him. I’m in love with Eric Cartman, and I’ve never been happier.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to come and see you, Kyle.” He begins, and I can feel the light condescending edge to his voice. “You should have told me so I could have come along sooner. I’m sure it would be good to meet her properly if she’s a friend of yours.”

“She’s just-” Eric starts, eager to jump to my defence.

“My boyfriend’s mother.” I interject, resting my hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. His eyes widen in surprise, looking to me to make sure I hadn’t gone mad. His gaze is questioning – _are you sure?_ – and the response is clear in my determined expression.

Dad looks at me like I’d grown a second head for a moment, taken aback by my abruptness. His eyes dart between us, watching us both before his eyes land on my hand, poised affectionately on his shoulder. Ike however seems far from speechless, juvenile sniggers breaking through the gaps in his fingers as he tries to contain his amusement by covering his mouth. Noticing his reaction, he raises his brows in a silent warning. It seems to work for a few moments, Ike trying to contain himself just to dissolve into another fit of giggles seconds later, more blatant than the first.

“Well, that wasn’t… expected. I’d figured you were seeing someone, I just hadn’t realized it was serious enough to warrant meeting the relatives.”

I’m not sure how to respond. The way he words it makes it seem as if he is on the verge of bowing on one knee and asking for my hand, and judging by his suspicious tone that’s most likely what he’s expecting. I guess we’re ‘serious’ now, especially after all we’ve been through to get to his point – I’m certainly serious about how I feel about him. Meeting his mother seemed like a natural step, especially with the two of them being so close.

“It is. It’s only his mother anyhow, we’re hardly asking for her blessing to marry. She’s a lovely woman and I feel it’s important to get to know the relatives of the people you love. If she makes him happy then I want her in my life too.”

He pauses for a minute, looking back up to Liane before taking in my expression, searching for a hint of insincerity or uncertainty. He finds none, and seems satisfied that I am genuine about the whole situation. He knows how stubborn I can be - and in a situation like this there no use trying to change my mind.

“Okay.” He nods, a diluted smile tainting his features. The corners of his lips dart up quickly after a moment, a sparkle of amusement in his eye. “As long as he makes you happy, I’m happy. I’ll even give you my blessing or whatever and try to win round your mother, just… make sure this one doesn’t piss in the plant pots.”

I snicker, tension leaving my body. My laugh is partly amusement at the memory yet a large proportion is sheer relief he seems to be okay with everything. I don’t want to have animosity between me and my parents, regardless of our petty disagreements. They’re my family and I will always love them regardless of their acceptance of my life.

Cartman, however, seems rather disturbed.

“…Plant pots? Should I even ask?”

“It’s a Stan thing, don’t worry about it.” I reassure him, aware we must seem like lunatics. “It wasn’t exactly funny at the time but it became an in-joke almost.”

He shakes his head fondly, ruffling my hair – much to my dismay, might I add. I bat his hand away, scalding him for his immature behaviour. He seems entertained by my reaction, but he can’t judge. His hair seems to always be tempting and silken and oh-so inviting, whilst maintaining the mess of curls upon my head is a full-time job.

“You weirdo. Well, we shouldn’t keep you. I’ll see you later Kyle, okay? If you still want to we can have some fun with that thing you wanted to try.” His voice is sweet, teasing in an almost sing-song way; full of affluent delight and affection that never fails to bring a goofy grin to my face.

“Pfft, what was that?” Ike queries, living up to his reputation as an evil little shit. “Sucking his dick?”

“Ike!” Cries my dad, seeming more disturbed than offended by his crude language. “Just keep out of it.”

I briefly consider telling him I already have just to see the look on his face, but that’s not something you really say in front of your father. I settle with denial, figuring it’s the best bet. I have time to rip on him later.

“Come on, you at least kissed it a little.”

You've got to love little brothers.

 

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**A.N. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm not too pleased with it but after the last few chapters that were pretty heavy this feels a lot more light-hearted, but hopefully it works fine. Of course, next chapter will have some NSFWness and Ike antics.**

**I've been meaning to add some more Creek but the story hasn't allowed for it recently, but in the future certain events will pull them much further into the spotlight so we will see plenty more from them in time.**

**\- NocturnalLament**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Marshmallow Dreams (NSFW)

**A.N. Hello, another chapter for you guys here. This is pretty much just some fluffy smut really, so no heartbreak yet I'm afraid.**

**I'm so insanely thankful to everyone that has reviewed so far, this story is a couple of reviews away from the 100 mark, and I would be so insanely thankful if you would leave a review. Even if it's just short, it really makes me happy and helps the story. I might even make something special for the hundredth reviewer if I have time, so I would make sure to log on if you do :)**

**Without further ado, enjoy your filth!**

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The room has darkened, the sun obscured by the pregnant clouds drifting idly through the sky. Eric sits at the desk, features illuminated by the tale lamp beside him – accentuating the angles of his furrowed brow, the sharply defined as he leans over his drawing, deep in concentration. Once he hears the door close behind me it stirs him from his trance, forgetting his work entirely. As our gazes meet across the room his eyes light up in the most captivating way, brightening the room and making me feel almost weightless. My legs move independently, reeling me to him like a fish imprisoned at the end of an incorporeal line. Before I know it, I'm sat on his lap as I weave my fingers through that silky hair, nipping at those soft lips and delighting in the beautiful way he shudders once my tongue joins the equation. He pulls me close, launching a full on assault of my mouth, delving into the depths and tasting every inch available to him.

"How did it go?" he murmurs; voice husky as his breath dances across the damp flesh of my lips. His head lowers, tracing the pathway of my jawline before dipping down to suckle at my exposed neck.

"Really good." I smile, pleased that he wants to confirm that I'm okay. "Better than good. I was really nervous about the whole thing because I was afraid of how he'd react to the whole situation, but to be honest he seems almost pleased for me. I don't exactly expect for him to be so reasonable when my mother joins him, but it's so insanely relieving to see my dad is okay with who I am and the choices I've made for the time being at least. I don't want us to drift apart again, and I finally feel like I won't need to find a compromise between their wishes and my happiness just to please them."

I feel his lips turn upward against the sensitive skin of my throat, pleased that things had gone in my favour at last. I swallow thickly, hairs stood on end at his closeness as my Adam's apple bobs against his probing lips.

"It's about time." He hums contentedly, and I feel the vibrations of his hushed voice against my skin. "You shouldn't have to deal with all that shit. How about we celebrate, huh? I believe there is a shower that we have somehow failed to desecrate."

"What a tragedy." I sigh in mock horror, standing up and pulling him with me – eager for the distraction. "I think this dire situation needs to be rectified straight away."

Fingers entwined snugly, my hand feels at home in his as I pull him with me, a coy smirk on my face as I wink at him. It seems to have the effect I'd hoped, his eyes darkening in want as his cheeks flush lightly.

It's not long before I find myself pinned against the bathroom wall, cold tiles a stark contrast to the raging flames of arousal that envelop my body as he ravishes me without constraint. His hands are needy and desperate, roaming across each curve and dip of my skin as he groans into our parted mouths. His hands find my ass, palming roughly at the gloves of flesh and causing me to gasp desperately, raising a leg to wrap around his thick hips. After an eternity spent drowning in his heat, I feel the cold acutely once he pulls back, leaving a parting kiss on my forehead before switching on the shower. He leaves it to heat up, steam rising from the showerhead as he turns to face me once more. His fingers fly to my buttons, slipping them open with practiced ease before pushing the garment aside, freeing me of the fabric. It lies discarded on the floor as he reaches for his own, almost tearing himself free in his desperation. Once shirtless, his lips gravitate toward my own as we kiss once more, skin against skin.

The feel of his heat, the soft supple flesh against my own is nothing short of heavenly.

I reach for my own trousers, and he withdraws – not bothering to hide the way his eyes blatantly absorb each inch of my body. Eager to tease I slowly wriggle them down my hips, loving the desperate look he sends me as he catches on. Unable to deny him and admittedly just as worked up as he is, I allow them to drop to the floor before stepping out of them, taking my boxers along.

He licks his lips hungrily, and I can't help but crave to feel that wet muscle at my lips, my throat, my cock, my ass… anywhere and everywhere. He makes quick work of his trousers, and I can't help but bite the inside of my cheek as I see his prominent bulge stretching the elasticated fabric of his boxer briefs taught.

Grinning at my blatant interest, he watches me intently as he frees himself of his boxers, heavy cock springing into the open air. I let out a needy whine in the back of my throat, and he quietens me with a quick kiss before pulling me under the water.

I yelp involuntarily at the sudden bombardment of water, sending Eric into a fit of laughter.

"You sound like a fucking girl, squealing like that." He taunts, voice teasing yet devoid of any traces of malice. He grasps at my waist, fingernails scraping against the skin of my hips as he draws me closer to him.

"I'm not the one  _giggling_." I exaggerate, eager to turn the tables. "Anyway, I'm not sure what else you expected. This water's too cold."

"Yeah yeah, whatever you say,  _princess_." He drawls, cranking up the dial until the water reaches a more reasonable temperature. "Make sure to wash all of that sand out of your vagina when you still have the chance, I think it's making you into a cranky little bitch."

"So crude." I muse, smirking in self-satisfaction as an idea hits me. I lean in to him, closing the gap as my lips find their way to his ear. I nip gently at the lobe, eliciting a breathy gasp before I grasp his wrist with my hand. In my best seductive voice, I purr hotly into his ear. "So I'm a girl,  _huh_? Well, you're wrong; so very wrong. Let me show you exactly how much of a man I really am…"

I pull his hand flush against my chest, slowly sliding it down across the slick skin toward my crotch. I hear his breath hitch, but once I dip below the neat crop of ginger curls he releases a shuddery sigh, hand eagerly wrapping around my growing cock. Without warning, he begins to roughly jerk me; the long strokes making my knees threaten to give way as I grasp onto his shoulders in a desperate attempt to ground myself.

"Hmm, you like that, huh? Love feeling me hold you? I bet you want to feel my tongue on you, to fuck my mouth…"

"Hell yeah I do." I gasp, his sordid words thrilling me to no end.

"Well, while I do love how  _dirty_  you are…" He insinuates, eyes tailing unabashedly across my exposed body. "I'm not too fond of stale skin. Luckily, I think I have a solution."

He retrieves a pink bottle from the shelf, adorned with images of those cute little colourful marshmallow ropes I used to love as a kid. I can't contain my snigger as he pours a generous helping of the bubblegum coloured fluid onto a shower scrunchie. Manly my  _ass_.

"Shut up." He grumbles, noticing my amusement. "You won't be complaining once you actually smell it."

"I just hope to God it isn't that realistic, you're so fat you'd probably drink it if you had the chance." I tease, earning a playful slap on the back of my head.

"No need to be an asshole… and anyway, I'm not fat, I'm amazingly buff."

"You're deluded."

"…And you find me hot, so you can't really complain. I see the way you look at me,"

"Oh no, you figured me out." I roll my eyes, voice thick with palpable sarcasm. "However could you tell?"

"I have my ways…" He murmurs, voice dropping as he nears me. His words are heated - accentuated with dark lust - and it takes an immense effort to prevent myself from pouncing on him right there and then. "Turn around."

His voice is so authoritarian, so deliciously commanding that there is no way I could refuse. I turn, resting one hand on the frosted glass of the shower door. I don't exactly have any difficulty with balancing, but I fear that feeling his hands on me might be a little more than I can handle without melting.

The seam rises gracefully around us, wisps of water vapour enveloping our bodies in an ethereal dance as the heat held within these confines has sweat melding with the cascade of water from above. The shower gel is still rather cool, and the unexpected chill against my skin causes me to shudder as he begins to apply it to my back. He works in small circles, the gel developing into a thick lather of fragrant foam. The repetitive movements are incredibly soothing, and the gentle pressure combined with the scrumptious scent causes the tension on my muscles to melt away.

He moves in closer, body mere centimetres from my back as his hands move to the front of my body. I feel his bodily heat radiate across the gap, and in my craving for him I push backward, pressing myself against him and savouring the contact. A small keening sound escapes my throat at the feel of his hardness against my ass, and my mind is consumed with filthy visions of riding him for all I'm worth.

Seemingly enjoying the same mental image, he returns the sound longingly as his hands travel across my chest, coating me in soapy bubbles. Once my chest is lathered up they travel downward, coating the inside of my thighs. The gentle touch drives me crazy, and I rest my weight against him as my knees threaten to give way.

Giving up on the fabric, he drops it to the floor as his bare hands take its place, massaging and squeezing the insides of my thighs. I moan needily, and unable to resist my pleas his hands trail upward. He grasps on to my erection once more, and by this point I'm fully hard and throbbing in his palm. He slicks up the skin, humming in pleasure as he licks my neck lewdly, the sensations causing by body to thrum from my toes to my fingertips. The delicious smell of marshmallows and the heady pleasure of his ministrations is an all-out assault on the senses, and my resistance snaps as I hear him growl lustily into my ear, grinding his cock against my ass. Oh God, I want him  _inside._

"Please!" I cry, desperate for anything and everything, eager to take whatever he can give. "I  _need_  you."

"Fuck Kyle, I need you too." He whimpers, pulling back only to press me to the wall, capturing my lips in a searing kiss. "More than anything."

I consider asking him to fuck me, but I'm not sure how he'd react. I'm nervous as hell, but I'm ready… I'm just not sure if he is. I want to let him know but I'm not sure how. I don't want to put pressure on him or put him off somehow, but I want to feel him inside of me so desperately that it's hard to deliberate which is the most reasonable option.

His head travels downward, leaving large hickeys along the line of my collarbone before journeying downward. He drops to his knees, watching me with half-lidded eyes as he absorbs my reaction. I feel each exhalation travel across my stomach, causing goosebumps to raise across the flesh… eager to feel those delectable lips surrounding me, I weave my fingers in his saturated mop of glossy russet locks and push downward encouragingly. Catching the hint, he smirks in self-satisfaction before grasping the base of my erection, giving it a firm squeeze. Wasting little time, he trails a long wet lick along the underside, tongue flicking teasingly against my slit. He tastes the pre-come that had begun to gather at the tip, seemingly incredibly pleased he'd worked me up into such a state already. Obligingly, he takes in as much of my length as he can. I moan loudly as his hot warmth envelops my cock, in love with the ambitious way he unabashedly takes my head into the back of his throat. It's not quite deepthroating, but the knowledge he's taken me in so deep, fighting his gag reflex as that perfect suction brings me to heaven and back… it's enough to drive any man insane.

"Yeah…. Fuck." I moan encouragingly, stroking his scalp to show my appreciation. He begins to bob his head, drawing back before taking me further and further, tongue working the underside whilst he kills me with unyielding suction. "Holy shit… y-you're gonna make me come.  _Eric_."

He hums, one hand grasping desperately at my hips as the other drops to his cock. His erection is so full, flushed and straining as pre-come beads at the head. Lost in the sensations, I somehow manage to bring myself to grab his arm, preventing himself from reaching release. He growls, the vibrations pushing me over into oblivion as I cry out in rapture, hitting an incredible orgasm as I fill his mouth in thick spurts. Once I feel the throb of my climax begin to subside, he pulls back – sputtering slightly before swallowing. Unable to support myself as my body recovers from the aftershocks of pleasure, I slide down the glass. My legs shake slightly as I sit on the cold tiles, warm water swirling around my feet.

As I slowly come back to my senses, I notice Eric had sat down also, leaning against the wall. He watches me with a dark hunger in his eyes, legs parted to expose his weeping cock… waiting for me to find my way back to reality. Pleased to oblige, I crawl over – eager to return the pleasure he'd given to me.

"I won't last long Kahl, I'm really close..." He warns, flushing slightly at the admission.  _Damn, he's so cute._

I look down, taking in the formidable girth of his impressive erection.

Cute isn't the word for it, it's more like  _really fucking hot._

I take him into my mouth with little hesitation, loving the flavour of clean skin and fresh sweat coupled with the residual scent of marshmallow. Unable to restrain himself he bucks his hips upward, verging on fucking my mouth. I'm far from complaining, sucking hard and fast as I drive him to his climax. He lets out a deep growl, biting his lip as he throws his head back, consumed by the pleasure I'd given him.

My mouth fills with saline fluid, and whilst I certainly love it when he swallows I'm not sure I quite have the taste for it that he does. While he is still in the throes of his orgasm I spit out his come, spiralling down the drain with the fresh water. The signature taste still lingers, but its milder and I don't worry that I'm going to choke any time soon.

"Jesus..." He rasps out, running chubby fingers through his soaking chestnut locks. "That mouth was just  _made_  for my cock, huh?"

"Amongst other things." I respond coyly, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his lips. I melt into the contact, and his arms snake round my shoulders to hold me in place. With no option but to linger, I press myself against him – lower lip being tugged sensually by his teeth.

"Fuck, I want I you." I whisper, heated breath raising goosebumps across his left cheek.

"You want me to go again? Oh, you filthy little thing. How could you still be horny after coming that hard? My mouth is still recovering."

"No, not like that, I just…  _God_." I cant contain my light chuckle as the heat rises in my cheeks, feeling like a virgin all over again. I bury my head into his neck and kiss the damp soft skin I find there, scooting myself onto his lap. "I want to feel you inside of me."

"Yes, yes." he breathes, hand cupping my face as he draws me back to look him in the eyes. "You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you, Kyle."

"Hmm, what happened to stopping?" I question, placing my finger teasingly on his lips, as if to hush him. "And anyway, I'm good for now. Next time, though? As long as you're up for it."

"I'd be mad if I wasn't. I can't wait to make that sweet kosher ass mine once and for all." He beams, accentuating his words with a hard slap to my ass, eliciting a yelp that is suspiciously bordering on a moan.

"Naughty boy." I muse, tracing his bottom lip with the pad of my finger. "So crude… I'd gladly teach you a lesson, but its almost time for dinner, you see."

He looks rather grumpy, and I'm momentarily taken aback that for once he seems somewhat disheartened at the prospect of food. I kiss him tenderly to cheer him up a little, and it seems to work for the most part.

"We should get out before they start yelling at us about the water bill, dude. I'm pretty exhausted but if you're good I'm  _sure_  I can find a way to help you sleep..." I insinuate, pressing my forehead against his. "Perhaps after dinner I can help you practice that audition piece."

"I'd like that." He grins, pulling me into a tight hug. "I'd like that a lot."

* * *

**A.N. Thank you again for reading, and I hope that you liked this chapter even though it was mostly just smut. And yes, there is full-on sex coming very soon, but of course I'll let you know in case you want to skip it as always, and we will be seeing old, unwelcome faces.**

**Have a great day, and make the most of every moment.**

**-NocturnalLament**


	27. I promise

**A.N. Hello again wonderful people, I'm back with a new chapter. I've noticed the last few chapters have been a little antisocial, and while that was just how the plot turned out I can promise we will be seeing more of everyone else for a while at least. I've finally managed to put in some more Creek - they will become more instrumental to the plot from here on, so we will be seeing more of this odd pair.**

**The next chapter is going to be a very important one, and while I don't want to give much away, I'll forewarn you that it will be very much _NSFW_...**

* * *

"No, that's not it."

"It isn't?"

"Yeah. See how much higher this note is on the sheet compared to the others?" Eric asks, futilely gesturing toward his sheet music. For all it's worth, it might as well be written in Cantonese or some long lost ancient language. "See the hollow note here? That's a minim, and because it's much higher on the lines – the stave – we can tell you have to sing higher, to a B note."

"…I'm completely lost. Can't you just learn it from the film?" I query, leaning against the side of the grand piano. The rich black gloss reflects my own gaze back at me, and even in this impaired reflection I can see the ghastly line of hickeys prominent across the length of my neck. I pull up my scarf a little, wrapping it tighter to conceal the bites and bruises – I'm lucky it's still spring, and I can get away with wearing this thing.

"Pfft, that piece of garbage? Johnny Depp might be pretty hot but he can't sing for shit. It would be like Mozart taking lessons from One Direction."

"Careful, don't let your head grow any bigger – the weight might crush your vocal chords." I tease, flicking a ball of fluff in his direction. "Not that that would be such a catastrophe, you blow your own trumpet so much that if you don't get the part I'm sure they'd welcome you into the orchestra."

"Well, you're certainly familiar with my blowing abilities, aren't you?" He insinuates, losing his teasing enthusiasm as my unamused expression fails to waiver. "Look, are you going to help or not? Just turn the pages and tell me if I screw up or I sound bad. If you're good I might even stretch as far enough to let you be my honorary Mrs. Lovett."

"Okay, as long as that means I get paid at the end for my efforts."

"Paid?" He starts, looking rather alarmed.

"Reimbursed with kisses…" I murmur, voice dropping as our lips meet. Bent over to reach him as he sits perched on the piano stool, I eagerly slip my tongue out to claim his own. He slips his arm around my waist, pulling me down so I'm sat beside him, other hand reaching up to weave his fingers in my hair.

"I'm sure we could come to an agreement." Eric muses, grinning as I bring myself closer to him. He presses backward, leaning on top of me and resting me against the piano. As my back hits the keys there is a resounding discord, bringing us down to reality. I simply laugh at the sudden shock, amazed how easily I'd gotten swept up in him, and he groans in frustration at the reminder of what the original plan was. "God damn it Kyle, Stop being so sexy, it's making it hard to concentrate."

"Fine." I sigh in mock exasperation, rolling my eyes as if it was a chore. "I guess I can try, but I can't make promises."

I slide from his lap, perching beside him as he sifts through the music sheets, making sure the song was in the correct order. He does a few quick scales again to get his fingers moving, not looking down from the pages as his fingers fly rapidly across the ivories.

* * *

"So he's really going to audition then? Good for him." Craig nods, uncharacteristically pleased as he removes the teabag from his pink  _'My mother says I'm pretty, so fuck you'_  mug – a birthday present from Kenny, so I've been told - flinging it into the bin. There's an uncharacteristic suggestion of gladness in his tone, the kind of emotional honestly that can only be encountered when he is truly at ease. I can't help but smile as he loads up instant coffee granules into a metallic blue thermos, stirring to speed up the dissolving process. Of course, there are only a few rare moments when you can catch him in his element - all of which involve a certain scruffy blonde with coffee stained teeth.

He adds some cool water and takes a sip of the liquid to ensure it isn't scalding, grimacing at the strength before deeming it worthy. He settles back down next to Tweek, handing him the thermos. Just the act of holding the thermos in his hands and having Craig beside him seems to calm him immensely, his shaking subsiding to a more manageable twitch as he leans against the stoic boy. He takes a long sip, sighing as gratification as the caffeine hits his system.

"Yeah," I confirm, smiling in secondhand satisfaction from watching their affectionate interactions. "I've been thinking of signing up to help out backstage so I can go and support him. It's not as if there's much question as to whether he'll get a good part."

"Don't say I said this, but he'd really like that. He's never been willing to truly go for it before – he insists that musicals are ' _the faggy type of gay'_ , but I'm not fooled." He confesses, and I nod understandingly. I'm well aware of his cocky façade. "You've really bought out the best in him; he never would've had the confidence to do this before."

"True… but it's not all that easy. The day I get him to do all of his coursework is the day hell freezes over."

"I'm the pessimist here, don't steal my gig." He drawls, taking a sip of his tea. I have to admit, he seems to be beating me on the ' _faggy'_  leaderboards – I certainly have a taste for men, even favouring tight fitting clothes and personal hygiene (shock horror! The concept somehow seems to be lost on most boys my age), but I would never stoop to drinking Earl Grey. I can't help but wonder if he has a traditional tea set under his bed, delicate china painted with floral patterns and perhaps even adorned with images of cocks for added _'homosexual credibility'._ "I'm sure you can find ways. You have him wrapped firmly around your finger, I'm sure with the right persuasion you could have him fulfilling you every command."

"You think?" I question, not entirely convinced. "What exactly do you propose?"

"Sex." He states plainly, as apathetic as if he was giving directions to the nearest bathroom. "You both strike me as pretty perverted, and we have the room across from yours, remember? There's a reason we stick to Tweek's room – he's right at the end of the corridor so he can moan and groan all his little heart desires."

"Jesus Craig!" Scolds the boy, looking about nervously to ensure no-one else had heard his words. "Don't talk so loudly about that stuff!"

"It's fine, it's only Kyle." Craig reassures him, soothing voice contrasted by a roll of his eyes. "You shouldn't be ashamed."

"Well, we haven't really-" I begin to admit, cut off as soon as he catches on.

"You haven't?" He starts, genuinely surprised. "I guess that kind of makes sense. Is it a Jew thing?"

"A ' _Jew thing'?_  You sound like Eric there… and it's not that simple." I clarify, nervously picking at the cuticle of my thumb. "We've said we will, and to be honest I  _really_  want to… it's just that we've both had bad experiences before. The whole reason I ended up here in the first place was because of this awful breakup I had. The asshole ended up cheating on me, and it made it all seem as if it was so  _meaningless_. And Eric? He had this thing for a guy who was just using him for sex, and I can tell that it hurt him despite what he'd want me to think. I really love him; it's not easy to say but I've come to terms with it – I fucking love him, and by some wonderful miracle, he loves me too. After everything we've been through… I just want it to be special, you know? I want it to really mean something. I'm just not sure what to do."

Craig pauses for a moment, deep in thought as he warms his slender fingers on his mug. He considers how to respond before answering, voice becoming serious yet fat from sombre; abnormally understanding and open for him.

"It's simple. You just need to be open with each other – you give yourself to him and he gives himself to you. No pretences, no fronts… just  _show_  him how you feel. You don't need flower petals or candles to do it – though you can if you want – all he needs is  _you_ , Kyle. Just go with what comes naturally, let your heart and your body take the lead, and just let things run their course. It's not hard to tell when people are absolutely smitten, and trust me when I say that you guys have something special. No matter what happens, how nervous or inexperienced you are, how stupid you think you look or whatever, it won't matter. You love each other, and it's  _him_ Kyle _._ Just the two of you… and that's more than enough to make it beautiful."

I can't deny the sincerity of his words, and the rare wisdom that lies within them. I can tell he's absolutely right, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd known just what to say.

"You know, you're smarter than most people give you credit. "

"You don't say." He scoffs, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "More often than not I end up being the voice of reason around here, without me this place would be an even bigger shithole."

"I can't really argue with that." I agree, nodding appreciatively at the odd pair.

"Tweek's not really that bad of an actor himself." Craig proudly declares, wrapping his arm around the smaller boy to quell his tremors. "He's been considering auditioning for one of the smaller parts himself."

"Craig! Don't start telling people, that's so much pressure." He groans, taking a long sip from his thermos.

"Everything's okay love. It's not a big deal, right Kyle? We're rooting for you, but we're not going to push you to do anything you don't want to."

"Yeah! Try not to stress yourself over it. I'm sure they'll love you."

"T-thank you." He smiles a little, hugging his thermos to his chest. "It means a lot to me to hear you guys say that."

"Any time." reassures the black-haired boy, leaning down to catch those shivering coffee-tainted lips with his own.

* * *

"I was half convinced I'd waken, satisfied enough to dream you…"

Eric sings sweetly, the inhales and exhales rhythmically raising my head, settled snugly on his chest. I feel the vibrations of his voice travel through his ribs, amplifying the rich bass of his tone and raising the volume, meaning he can carry the tune quietly so he doesn't need to worry about waking our neighbours.

"…happily I was mistaken _, mein rotschopf_ …"

"That song is so pretty." I hum contentedly, leaning into his hand as his fingers weave their way into my curls. "That song is for another character, isn't it? I thought you were dead set on Sweeney."

"I am, but it's a sickeningly romantic song, and I figured I couldn't seduce you by singing about slitting throats and making people into pies."

"I think at this point you could seduce me by singing just about anything." I admit, burying my face deeper into his shirt and inhaling deep breaths of his wonderful scent. His signature odour is tinted a little by traces of lavender fabric softener, and his bodily heat is dampened by the fabric. Irritated by its presence, I tug feebly at the material until he catches on, sitting up to remove the garment. He rests back down on the mattress, and I discard my own shirt before falling back into our embrace. He winds both arms around me, holding me close as I feel his heavy pulse against my bare skin.

"You know, you could go for Mrs. Lovett. You certainly look as if you sample plenty of pies." I tease, and he scoffs at the suggestion, whacking my ass playfully.

"Very funny Kahl. Even if I could there is no way I would. She's not only a love-struck pussy but also a bitch, and that's a toxic combination."

"Why can't you?" I question, wondering if he'd been banned from the role for some dreadful yet unsurprising reason.

"Why, you see, I have this thing… something that means I don't exactly qualify for the role. Something you are  _very_  familiar with." He chuckles, grasping my hand and sliding it down across his chest, pushing my palm into his crotch. "I'm afraid that I do not, in fact, have a vagina."

"Oh  _really_? I couldn't tell." I retort childishly, pulling my hand away. "I wasn't aware that any of us did."

"For god's sakes Kyle, the  _girls_  are going to play the female roles." He sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes.

"There are girls here!?" I cry in surprise, almost falling off the bed as I desperately try to remember any previous mention of such a thing. "I was told-"

"No, idiot! From the  _girl_ _s'_  school. I guess considering the time you showed up it's not that surprising you don't know much about the Bitch Brigade. We're partnered with an all-girls' school that's just over half an hour away, closer to the towns. We don't actually give much of a shit usually, but we compete against each other when it comes to sporting events and they come over and get involved in productions and school dances. We even managed to get loads of them to sneak out and show up to Kenny's New Year's party, it was wild as fuck. It's a decades old rivalry though - the Ballard boys against the St, James' girls. Last year we were on their campus for some stupid Christmas dance and Kenny and Clyde managed to paint their crest the Ballard colours… so naturally we're not allowed back for the rest of the academic year, and all joint events are restricted to our grounds so we've seen less of them so far this year... Not that I mind much anyway. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm actually gay."

"Oh really? You had me fooled there; I could have  _sworn_  you were straight." I retort, unimpressed by his stupidity. "Anyway, it's not as if it's a huge deal – I'm just left out of the loop again like always. Do you know any of them?"

"The chicks? A few, but if you want a rundown you'll have to ask Kenny. He's the 'ladies' man'; he's probably slept with at least half of them by now. I know some of the musicians from collaborative concerts and stuff, and for a while last year I was in the debate team because there were scheduling conflicts and it meant I got to miss PE. Sadly they managed to rearrange it so it was at our school instead and didn't run over anything boring, so I ended up quitting. I was really good though, and most of the meetings consisted of me arguing about shit with this hippie chick called Wendy. She might have sand in her vagina and be infested with tree-hugger diseases but once you learn to put up with her she's not half bad. We go shopping sometimes."

"Shopping? That sounds like she's a friend of yours." I question, in shock that he could care to associate with someone that is both off the fairer sex  _and_  has values that contradict his own.

"I guess. At least she's enthusiastic about things and she's not a pushover…. there are  _some_  redeeming qualities. Besides, I can't but clothes with any of the assholes here; they all have the fashion sense of a wet dishcloth." He states dismissively, trying to maintain appearances. "There are a few musicians and singers that are mostly bearable. I'll introduce you to them if they get parts in the play… I'll have to bring you along with me to see us practice, of course."

"You don't need to worry about that." I can't help but grin, aware that he has no idea that that won't be necessary. "I'll already be there. I put my name down to help with tech, and they assigned me as backstage crew. I'll be able to bug you _all I want."_

My voice dips lower, lips finding their way to his neck. He lets out a shuddery exhale as my teeth graze the skin, goosebumps rising on places of contact.

"I think I can live with that." He muses, fingers tracing meandering pathways along my spine. "…But you can't be too sexy while I'm working, I'll get to distracted."

"I'll try my best." I reply vaguely. "As long as I get to come and see your audition. You need me to cheer you on."

"I'm not sure I need a cheerleader in order to sing well – you insult me. Regardless, I could stretch to allowing you under one condition. "

"Yes?" I query; all ears but knowing full well he's going to ask for something stupid.

"You have to stay behind every now and then to help me 'practice', get in a little extra-curricular activity. I'm sure we could work something out.."

"Meaning?"

"I want to fuck you. Wearing my costume. In the barber's chair."

"You can't be serious." I blanch, surprised yet incredibly thrilled by his words.

"Au contraire,  _mon petite rousse_. I think it would be great to see you sweat slicked, riding me and moaning my name, so close to all the death and destruction."

"You're sick." I chuckle, far from disgusted by the prospect. "If you put on a good show, then I promise we will. Just make sure we don't get caught. Anyway, you don't know if you got the part yet, don't be so presumptuous."

"There's not much question about it Kyle, it's a great role for my voice – that's one of the main reasons I convinced Mr. Garrison to go through with the show."

"You chose the play? It figures. Just- wait… Mr. Garrison? That asshole is in charge of the play? I  _swear_  he hates us."

"He hates everyone, Kyle." Eric dismisses, ruffling my hair. I try to straighten it, my sour face only partially sincere. "He used to loathe me before he realized I was good with music. He called me a fat daemon child, or something of the sort. Now he's just an old moron, but sadly a hell of a musical director. He was what putt me off auditioning the last few times."

"So it wasn't because you were nervous?" I ask teasingly, knowing there was some truth to the statement.

"What? Me? Don't be bloody ridiculous." He seems rather flustered by my assertion, eager to dispel my thoughts on the matter. "I don't worry about such stupid shit, I know I'm awesome. I just didn't want to put up with his nagging unless I really liked the play."

"Of course." I agree, attempting to seem deadly serious and failing miserably. Eager to get his revenge he digs is fingers into my sides, causing me to writhe around on the mattress as he tickles me relentlessly.

"Okay… Okay!  _STOP_! I-I'm  _sorry_!" I yelp, kicking at him to push him away. My efforts are successful once I land a hit to his stomach, winding him and causing him to keel over onto the bed.

"F-fuck you Kahl..." He groans, arms clutching his chest. "That's totally not cool."

"You shouldn't have started it, fatty. It was completely justified. Be thankful I didn't go for your precious balls."

"Ugh, whatever. Grow up Jew, I expected more from you."

"Your degeneracy must be rubbing off on me." I smirk, pulling him closer to me again. "You should stop being a douche and just chill for a bit. You need to actually get some sleep for once if you plan on knocking them dead tomorrow."

" _Fine_." Eric huffs, wrapping his arms around me as he sweetly peppers my scalp with chaste kisses.

I reach over to the bedside lamp, pulling the cord and enveloping us in a shroud of darkness. My eyelids slip closed instinctively as I melt into his body heat, muscles relaxing as I feel unconsciousness sneak up on me, fully content.

"Kyle?" Eric whispers, uncharacteristically uncertain voice stirring me from the verge of sleep. I hum questioningly, acknowledging my attention. "...You will be there tomorrow, right?"

"Of course!" I can't help but grin at that, pressing a reassuring kiss to his bare chest to try and soothe him. "I promise."

"Good… I love you."

"I love you too." I sigh, burying my head in his shoulder. "Always."

.

* * *

**Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The events of the next chapter(s) are very important in the story, so I promise I'll try and get them posted on time.**

**I love you all, and I am so thankful that I have so many wonderful readers and reviewers. You all motivate me so much, I have no idea where I'd be without you all. I hope you have a wonderful day, and if all goes according to plan I will see you again next week x**


	28. Complete (NSFW)

_**Greetings! Yes, your eyes are not tricking you - I have returned from my impromptu hiatus to bring you this monumental chapter on valentines day, quite fittingly.** _

_**I am incredibly sorry for the wait; I have been very unwell lately and life seems to have some kind of vendetta against me, but I'm sure you don't really want to hear any self-pity as such. However, I promise that I have NOT given up on NTL and I refuse to do so unless my body decides to go and die on me or something, so don't ever think I'm not going to finish this...** _

_**I can't wait to see how my wonderful readers like what I have planned...** _

* * *

**_-!-Super Cereal NSFW sexytimes warning-!-_ **

* * *

Ten minutes. There's _ten_ _minutes_ until the auditions start, and a certain someone is nowhere to be seen.

I'd gone looking for him twenty minutes ago, eager to give him a little encouragement – at first I wasn't that alarmed that he had disappeared, but as time ticked onward my concern had grown and grown until I was acutely aware that something wasn't right. I'd asked around the common room to try and determine his whereabouts , and I'd learnt from Clyde (in exchange for a fiver, the sneaky bastard) that he'd left the dorms half an hour ago, seeming rather on edge as he'd jogged out in the direction of the old chapel. After checking once more by the drama studios to ensure he hadn't simply gone to prepare, I'd set out to try and hunt him down.

Lost, I feel like a noseblind bloodhound; futilely stumbling in search of an elusive bone. I figure my best chances are to head down to the chapel, even though I'm fully aware Eric would probably never be caught dead in such a building. I trample across the muddy pathways – courtesy of the generous British climate – walking further and further into the more obscure area of campus. I'm not too familiar with this area, yet I get a strong sense of déjà vu as I scan the thick forestry bordering the field, the wall of bark merely a cloudy recollection. I approach the old stone building, stained glass an almost eerie splash of colour against the dreary monochrome background of an English April morning. It seems so out of place, drawing attention to itself so much that if it wasn't for a fleeting movement seen in my peripherals I would have likely had no luck in my search at all.

I turn my gaze toward the motion, deflating immediately as I realize it had merely been a stray Tabby cat. Frustrated, I rub at my forehead with the heel of my palm as I continue to survey the surrounding woods. By luck or some divine favour, my eyes come to rest on a familiar sight - a weathered scarlet ribbon tied onto the trunk of a vast oak tree.

The unanticipated streak of colour had caught me off guard, but after a moment of confusion I had immediately recognized the fabric. I hadn't even thought to look here beforehand, but now I'm kicking myself for not thinking of it sooner! Faith in my search renewed, I jog toward the forest.

Faded from the daily onslaught of the islands temperamental weather, the ribbon had dulled in hue to a murky rusted shade. I run my hand along the fabric as I walk, a lifeline in the maze-like depths of this dense forest. Along the path, I notice some footprints indented into the mud, the familiar shape of Eric's boots filling me with a sense of achievement.

Bingo.

As I enter the clearing, I hear him before I see him. His words are hard to hear, but I can distinguish his affectionate tone a mile away, unsure who he was addressing. At first I'd assumed it was me considering his tone, yet I soon realized that this wasn't the case.

"Yeah, I missed you. I love you so much, did you miss me too?" He coos sweetly, causing bile to rise in my throat as my stomach lurches. "I bought you some presents and everything. I'd do anything to see you smile."

I should be the only one he talks to like that. I should be the only one. I hope for a moment that he's merely on the phone to a close relative, speaking merely with platonic warmth. Much to my dismay, the clear rustling of leaves is clearly heard in the clearing, no doubt some other person shifting the leaves below their feet. _Who the fuck is…_

"Clyde, come over here. Don't you want a cuddle?"

Clyde? But… he hates that douche. Why would he risk what we have…?

I'm not sure whether to throw up, punch him or both. What the fuck is _wrong_ with him! He'd said he loved me – he made me fucking _believe_ him! What kind of a two timing asshole would pull something like this? I even paid Clyde for him to lie right to my face, unknowing it would lead me here. Perhaps he'd even known it would… he'd wanted me to see this for whatever sadistic reason. Is this his way of staking a claim on Cartman? Is life just determined to screw me over again? I'm _done_ with this shit. I'm so done… and he's going to know it.

"What the FUCK do you think you're doing!?" I snarl, charging from between the trees toward the direction of his voice. "Am I not _enough_ -?"

His eyes dart up to meet mine, marred with confusion as he raises a quizzical eyebrow at my intrusion. On his lap, a young Black Bombay rears its head, disturbed by the interruption. Startled, it tries to rear itself upward in an attempt to defend itself, and noticing its change in demeanour Eric hums softly, hushing it like a child as he cradles it firmly in his arms.

"Good going Kyle," He deadpans, an unamused expression gracing his features. "You almost got my balls scratched off. Good going to you. Bravo. Forgive me for not applauding."

"But- I thought... I'm sorry, I just- God damn it." I groan, pinching my nose frustratedly. "I know I should have trusted you... where did you find him? I thought the feral cats hated people."

"They do." Eric replies solemnly, scratching absentmindedly behind the lanky cat's ears. "For most people the feeling is mutual. I guess I've always just fitted in better with them than I do with most humans, and they seem to be able to tell. They give me company and an outlet when things seem shitty, and I give them companionship, food and toys."

"That's surprisingly kind of you, Eric. It's sweet of you to look after them like that." I respond, voice sincere . I can sense he's not in the mood for a spar and I'm more than willing to do anything to help him feel more comfortable. I carefully perch down on the log beside him, taking my time as to not startle the feline. "So you've named them?"

"Yeah..." He confirms, cheeks darkening. "Their names sound stupid as fuck but you're going to have to just trust me that there's a reason for them. I didn't know any better back then - this little idiot here is Clyde Frog."

"He's so cute…" I smile warmly, trying not to intimidate the creature. "He doesn't look particularly frog like though, if you ask me."

"You figure?" He chuckles lightly, the light re-emerging in his eyes and causing me to feel so much more at ease. "Peter Panda looks a lot more Panda-esque; hopefully he will live up to your scrutiny. If we have any luck we can get Polly to come back too. She was very friendly until she became pregnant but she's much more skittish these days. I can't say for sure but based on their body language I think the litter is Clyde's, but I guess we need to wait and see once the kittens arrive." He looks into the fauna, the tone of his voice turning to a soothing chuckle. "Come on, girl. The Jew isn't all that bad…"

I hear a muffled mew in response, but there is nothing to be seen. Eric coos once more, making little clicking sounds with his tongue. As if summoned, a large Ragdoll emerges from beyond a nearby tree, its thick creamy coat ruffled and its paws marred with mud. Her icy blue eyes are sharp and clear as water, watching me warily from afar. I see Eric dig around in the pockets of his jacket, producing some ham and offering it to me. I grimace at the slice of pork, hesitantly taking the strange smelling meat.

"Oh don't look like that." He quips, rolling his eyes theatrically at my obvious reluctance. "It's not going to sink through your skin into your bloodstream and make you un-kosher. She has a weakness for food – you'll see. Just offer her some."

Unsure of myself, I extend my hand towards her. I see Clyde's nose twitch at the scent, and Eric – being the pushover he is – procures another generous helping for him.

She merely watches me at first, trying to determine whether I should be considered a threat. Eric calls her again, and once she notices that he seems at ease in my presence she seems to deem me worthy, trotting forward. She sniffs the ham before eating it, eagerly ravishing the meat before lapping at the tips of my fingers, tongue rough as sandpaper.

"See, she likes you too already." He reassures me, pleased that his feline accomplices seemed welcoming of his boyfriend. "I guess that means you're a keeper."

"Like you couldn't tell already. I'm sticking around whether you like it or not." I grin, kicking his legs teasingly. "But openness comes as part of that package, so I'm afraid you're going to need to talk before I have to resort to _drastic measures_. You seemed so dead set on getting the part; I don't understand why you're not up there right this minute giving them hell. Come on, spill."

"It's complicated" He sighs, averting his eyes from my questioning stare – it's a stupid evasive tactic and he knows it. "There's not even anything worth worrying yourself over."

"The fact you're sat here tells me otherwise. Just humor me, okay? I hate seeing you upset."

"Fine, just don't make a big deal about it, yeah? Look, I wanted to impress everyone and I know the music well enough… this is the second year in a row I was pushing for this musical. I know I should at least try and go but all week I haven't allowed myself to think much about it outside of practising, it all just feels like some stupid dream I had. You know when you build something up in your head and you allow yourself to be excited about it, even though you really know deep down that you'll never meet those expectations? I've just reached this point where I can't help but open my eyes to the fact that it's not going to work out. Sure in theory it seemed wonderful, but realistically they could do better than me. The real reason Mr. Garrison bowed to my will and chose this script is I caught him using faculty computers to watch some weird German fetish porn. I'm not exactly guaranteed a decent role, and even though it's likely I'll do as well as I wanted I'm reluctant to put myself out there like that. There's this nagging little part of me in the back of my brain that can't let me stop imagining all the ways it could go wrong… I just can't stand the idea of people thinking less of me for this whole thing. For so long, my reputation was the only thing I had. I was the crazy kid – the psycho that would destroy anyone that got in his way yet still manages to charm everyone with a sweet smile. Sure, I have the charisma and a knack for getting myself out of awkward situations but you can't worm your way out of this kind of failure. Sure they all see me as the class fag, but this kind of activity will only make me seem more of a stereotype in their eyes."

"But you were looking forward to this! Don't give me any of that bullshit, that role is as good as yours and we both know it. We're together now, right? Surely you should let me help with fixing whatever is troubling you. It runs deeper than that… you wouldn't be sat out here looking all on edge over some stupid audition."

"I should have known you'd be right about everything again." He chuckles uneasily, the curving of his lips weak and timid as he wallows in his thoughts. "I guess being such a Jew your nose is so huge you can't avoid sticking it into people's business, so I can't really hold it against you. I really meant it when I said I was weary of screwing up, but not just in terms of the stupid play. Things seem to be going okay for once – largely thanks to you – I just can't escape the feeling that any minute it will all come crashing around me. You're decent… You're hot as fuck, funny, compassionate and feisty. You have bite, and this eloquence to you that I never would have expected to see in a Jew. People like you don't _like_ people like me. Any minute now I'll slip up or go too far and you'll regret ever meeting me."

"You're bloody stupid, you know that?" I question, wrapping my arms around him as I embrace him tightly, causing the black cat to reluctantly defect from Eric's lap. "I honestly wouldn't be here if you weren't worth every minute. I love _you,_ you fuckwit - don't you get that? I love that stupid smug grin of yours you do after you beat me at something, I love the way your eyebrows furrow when you're thinking deeply. I love those sweet little shudders that fill your body before you come, the way your eyes light up once you feel proud of yourself. I love the full package – the good and the bad. I would never want you _any_ other way. That flimsy tough boy persona won't work on me, Eric – I don't care that you have your doubts that you struggle with your confidence every now and then. It doesn't make you weak… it makes you _human_. If anything, it only makes me love you more."

He sighs gladly as he buries his head into my shoulder, ghosting kisses along my clavicle through the fabric of my shirt. Pleased he seemed a little more receptive, I run one hand through his hair, loving the silky feel of those gorgeous chestnut locks.

"Thank you." He whispers, pulling back to look me in the eyes. "I'm really not good at all of this emotion shit."

He looks slightly shaken by all of the honesty but thankful for my reassurance, and he plants a chase kiss to my forehead before standing up, offering his hand to assist me in doing the same.

"You know, we still have time to get to the auditions. Once they hear me sing I doubt they'll be angry at us for being late."

* * *

The haunting lullaby fills the room, the trill of the piano reverberating throughout the grand chamber. The high ceilings are painted with affluent cherub caricatures - nude children adorned with wings, honey coloured curls and milk pale skin that watch from above. Outside of the mural, there is not much in the way of an audience. I sit on a stool in the corner of the room, painted black and covered in scraps of worn silver duct tape. A man I vaguely recognise sits at the piano, swaying slightly to the tune he produces – unnoticed by the small group of music and drama teachers that sit before the makeshift stage. The congregation watch eagerly - naturally spearheaded by Mr. Garrison – as Eric approaches the spotlight, standing below the seemingly celestial beam and stirring the dancing dust motes that glimmer in the light from above.

He swallows thickly, Adams apple bobbing prominently in his throat before he clears the saliva with a weak cough. I smile reassuringly at him, and he nods in response.

He takes another deep breath, closing his eyes as he begins to sing the melody.

"These are my friends, See how they glisten." He starts, voice rich and operatic yet almost timid, restrained. The tune is low and sinister. From a small box, he procures a fake razor – a temporary prop hastily thrown together from scraps of wood.

"See this one shine… How he smiles in the light. My friend, my faithful friend..." His vocals lift along with the tune, the passion growing within his voice more than enough to outshine the meagre notes of the piano.

"Speak to me friend; Whisper… I'll listen." His voice dips downward once more, and he loses himself in the music as he brandishes the imitation blade. Despite its obvious composition there is something about the way he holds himself, the way he cradles it to his ear as if to hear it's cries of bloodlust – something that is entirely captivating, and all of a sudden the weapon is very real in his hand. "I know, I know you've been locked out of sight all these years, like me my friend. Well I've come home to find you waiting... home, and we're together! And we'll do wonders. Won't we?"

His voice gains momentum, reaching greater heights as he revels in the joy of the freedom, of the opportunity. His words almost become a whisper as he asks the question, eyes locking with mine and obliterating everything other than us. All of a sudden, all that exists within this reality is me and Eric, nothing but his voice to carry me through. I was so absorbed in those glimmering eyes, that eerie tune, that I barely even noticed the busty female beside him – curled hair in a messy updo and her dress revealing far too much cleavage to be deemed classy as she grasps on to his arm, swooning as she presses her ample bust against him.

"I'm your friend too, Mr. Todd, If you only knew, Mr. Todd, _ooh Mr. Todd_..." The blond croons with an uneasy sweetness, picking up the second half of the duet as her voice interweaves with Eric's – eerily complimenting.

"You there my friend - Come let me hold you. Now, with a _sigh_..."

"You grow warm, in my hand. My friend!" They both sing, finding a beautiful harmony in the union of their voices.

"You've come home! Always had a fondness for you, I did." She sings, causing a pang of unreasonable jealousy to swirl in my gut regardless of the knowledge that this is merely for the purpose of theatrical impact. "Never you fear, Mr. Todd, You can move in here, Mr. Todd."

"My clever friend… Rest now, my friends. Soon, I'll unfold you." contrasts the brunettes tone, combating her raising tone with a dip to a rich, low bass.

"...Soon you'll know splendours you never have dreamed all you days..." They both harmonize one more, gaining momentum as they near a crescendo. She pulls herself in closer to his body, clinging to his bicep as she watches the implement in his hands with wonder, as if he'd breathed life into the object through his performance. I recognise the look in his eyes, that dark and wistless air that signifies he had fully lost himself to the moment.

"I'm your friend and you're mine! Don't they shine beautiful?" cries out the female, "Silver's good enough for me, Mr. T."

"My lucky friends; 'Til now your shine was merely silver…. Friends, you shall drip rubies, you'll soon drip precious... _rubies_..."

The pianos melody builds, tension coiling tightly as it reaches an unsettling crescendo. Stood boldly, all focus in the room is drawn to Eric like a moth to a flame, and captivated so much so that even the painted figures upon the ceiling couldn't tear their eyes away from his form. His presence is commanding, and once he bellows out his final line as his arm flies upward in a salute - pointing the blade to the heavens – the occupants of the room feel a collective shiver, one most likely experienced also by the Gods themselves.

" _ **At last, my right arm is complete again!"**_

 

* * *

 

 

"You don't think they'd already found someone else, do you?" Eric asks, pulling a mint from his pocket and twisting it open, fiddling with the wrapper as he pops it into his mouth. "I mean, I was definitely the last person to show up."

"Yeah, but I really wouldn't worry about it considering the fact they'd clapped as enthusiastically as they did. You even outdid _my_ expectations, so you know you did something right. Stop stressing about it."

"I'm _not_." He insists, voice muffled by the sweet in his mouth.

"Oh _really_?" I question knowingly, grasping onto my shoulder as I pull myself closer. "That is the fifth mint in seven minutes – you always stuff the hole in your face when you feel on edge. Just don't dwell on it too much; they'll be out any minute now."

He nods in silent agreement, reluctant to acknowledge I was right. Despite all of the other candidates filling the waiting room he wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into a passionate kiss. He seems eager for distraction and I'm more than willing to oblige, losing myself in the blissful feel of it all and the strong taste of artificial mint. So absorbed in each other, we only realize that someone had entered once the other candidates had crossed the room, keen to see the casting.

Pulling myself from Eric's arms, we head toward the corkboard in the corridor, surrounded by a cluster of exited students. Pushing forward, we eventually get close enough to see the cause of the excitement – a sheet of paper. More precisely, the casting for the main roles.

Reading from the bottom upward, I can't help but feel proud once I notice that Tweek had been selected to play Tobias. I reach back to retrieve my phone to text Craig the good news, but my hand stills once Eric grasps my bicep tightly, practically buzzing with palpable anticipation. I look over to him, and once I meet the shine in those ecstatic eyes I have a good idea as to why. I turn back to the sheet, and sure enough at the top of the page there is cause for celebration.

**Sweeney Todd -** _**Eric T. Cartman** _

"You did it!" I cry out, throwing my arms around his neck as he holds me close, laughing in joy. "I told you you could!"

A few of the rejected candidates send unamused glares in our direction, but I honestly care less. I'm so pleased for him, and I can tell he's proud of himself too. I feel my heart swell in pride, extremely stoked that he's excited for something so constructive that isn't in any way illegal or dangerous.

"Congratulations." Drawls a familiar voice, a smirk on the man's face as he approaches. "I take it you'll behave yourself?"

"Of course, Mr. Garrison." Eric promises, shaking his outstretched hand. "Thank you for choosing me."

"I've taught you for a long time, Eric Cartman – make no mistake, this is a serious commitment and it requires everyone involved to take it seriously. This production will go on with or without you, understood?"

"Crystal clear." He retorts, looking the older man dead in the eyes. "I'll do my best."

"Good." He nods. "Very well then. Now we have reached a mutual understanding I'll leave you to your _friend_ here. I'll be seeing you in my office at five tomorrow sharp for an initial briefing."

He takes his leave, and I'm rather annoyed at him… surely he didn't need to be such a dick. Eric has his problems and all but it's obvious that he really wants this. Unfazed, he turns to me once more as he draws me close, eyeing my parted lips.

"So you will keep your end of the bargain, then?" He grins, squeezing at my hips playfully.

"Of course, what do you take me for?" I reply coyly, tugging at the hem of his scruffy dress shirt. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for that… but I do propose that we have a little celebration of our own _right now."_

"Right now? What, do you want me to drop to my knees right here?" He teases, grasping my wrist as he pulls me out of the crowd. "I'm afraid you'll need to wait a minute or two… unless you really can't wait and you need me to ravish you as soon as possible, in which case there are always toilets or cleaning cupboards."

"No, I'm fine to go back to the dorms…" I respond, feeling my cheeks heat up. I feel like a virgin all over again, and I can tell by his actions he hasn't quite caught on to exactly what I want yet.

We weave through the corridors, sprinting through the rain to reach the dorms as dry as possible. Once we reach our room he's all over me – slamming me into the door as his tongue assaults my mouth hungrily. I gladly take him in, reciprocating with the same passion and then some. I let out a needy whine into his mouth as I feel his hands trail down my body, hands grasping firmly at the flesh of my ass. The action reminds me of my intentions, and before Eric gets too absorbed I push him back. Confused, he looks back to me with a quizzical gaze that has anxiety and anticipation swirling in my gut in equal proportions.

"I don't want…" I start, grimacing at how stupid I'd made myself sound. "I-I mean… I don't want to hold back anymore."

"Hold back?" He asks, and I nod in affirmation. "How so?"

"I want you to fuck me." I state honestly, resting my palms on his chest. I feel his frantic pulse accelerate below my fingers, reassuring me that I wasn't the only one filled with anticipation. "I'm ready, and I want you… "

He watches me wearily for a minute, trying to determine how sincere I am. Failing to see anything but lust and honesty he obliges, pressing closer to me again. He kisses me once more – this time more gentle and heartfelt – melting me in his heat and filling me with so much affection I fear I'll burst.

" _Hell yeah_..." he murmurs, voice husky and practically dripping with sex appeal against my cheek. "I need you too, more than anything."

"It's been a while." I admit, cheeks blazing at my admission. "We should take it slow."

"You haven't even fingered yourself?" he asks, dipping his head down to nip at my neck.

"...Not for a few months or so."

He growls in the back of his throat, eyes dark and hungry as they work down my body – lingering at the rapidly growing bulge of my stiffening cock.

"I guess that's something for a rainy day… _fuck_ , I want to see you finger that sweet ass. Now though, I can't wait that long; want to have you moaning my name."

"Jesus Eric…" I gasp, voice shaky from the wave of unrelenting arousal at his words. "Yeah."

He presses another tender kiss before he grows more desperate, nibbling at my lip before pulling away.

"Bed." He demands, and I'm more than pleased to oblige; his authoritarian voice a sensual delicacy to the ears.

I send him a teasing smirk, raising my eyebrow in an attempt at seduction. I back up until the backs of my knees hit the bed before falling onto the mattress, pulling him down with me. He's been on top of me many times before, but it has never felt so raw – so _intimate_. I flush deeply as his fingers find the buttons of my shirt, thumbing them undone to expose the pale expanse of my rapidly rising and falling chest. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I pull him closer instinctively as he trails several wet kisses along my jawline, graduating onto my neck. He follows the path of my jugular before suckling at my collarbone, leaving glistening skin and hickeys in his wake.

I let out a shallow moan as his lips clasp firmly onto my hardened nipple, creating a wonderful suction on the sensitive skin as he pops open the button of my trousers. Despite my enjoyment of the situation, I have to admit things were seeming rather unbalanced.

"Wait, slow down a second." I hum, pushing him back up onto his knees. Elevating myself, my hand steadies itself on his meaty hips as the other tugs at the collar of his blazer, removing it in one swift movement. I reach for the buttons on his dress shirt but he grimaces one I come into contact with the material, instinctively leaning back to evade my hand. I watch him quizzically, trying to understand what had triggered the sudden shift in attitude.

"It's cold." He murmurs, gripping my hand in his own as he brings the appendage to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on my knuckles. If I was uncertain before as to whether he was okay, I certainly know now.

"But I don't have my shirt on anyway, and without your extra padding I'm way colder right now than you would be. Why does it even matter? You'll be hot and bothered after all."

"I'm just…. temperature sensitive. I can't be bothered to have to get dressed once we're done anyway." He replies dismissively, leaning back in to recapture my lips. Sensing his unease, I refuse to allow him entry - causing a disgruntled expression to corrupt his features.

" _Kyle_ -"

"No." I bluntly insist, quietening him as I press a finger to his slightly kiss-swollen lips. "It's coming off and that's final."

I reach forward to loosen his collar, but the unmistakable flash of anxiety in those wide eyes freezes me on the spot. I can't dismiss my worry then, concerned that something had happened to change his mind.

"...Eric, you know you can talk to me, right? It's okay if you don't want to do this yet. We can always just-"

"That's not it." He insists, unable to meet my eyes with his own. He seems almost… _ashamed._ Something I'd never expected to see from him. His brow furrows contemplatively before he sighs in defeat, running his fingers through his messy russet locks to compose himself.

"I'm not like you, Kyle. I'm not."

"Of course you aren't." I reply, confused by the meaning of his words yet feeling obligated to try to comfort him. "We wouldn't be in this situation in the first place if you weren't _you."_

"That's not it though! I don't look like you, okay?" He grimaces, eyes not quite meeting my gaze. "I don't have a flat stomach or perfect hips, or even a decent figure. I'm sorry, but I'm no fucking Calvin Klein model."

I pause for a minute, partially out of uncertainty how to respond and partially due to my bewilderment that he honestly finds issue with this.

"You… I know you're not. I won't lie and say you're exactly the thinnest person ever because that wont help anything. What have I ever done to give you an impression that _that_ was what I wanted? I love you asshole, and that means I love everything about you – even the bits that are a little rough round the edges. To be honest, I think you're _perfect_ , okay? You're strong, stocky with this sense of raw power I can't help but find intoxicating. Just the right amount of padding that you're far from frail, and you feel _just right_ in my arms. I'm glad you don't look like them, because that wouldn't be you. It's you I want, Eric. Just you."

He looks as if he's about to refute my words, so I cut them short in the back of his throat as I press my lips against his, filling the action with as much affection and passion as I can to weaken his resolve as I roll him over onto his back, taking control.

Once he seems placated, my hands find his buttons again as I keep my eyes locked on his, making sure he's okay with everything. I slide the fabric aside once they are all unfastened, revealing creamy skin and a light dusting of brunette hairs. I dip my head to his clavicle, pressing my lips to the heated flesh as I kiss my way along his body.

"I love your wide shoulders. So manly that they always drive me wild, so wonderful to dig my fingers into as you make me feel incredible with the slightest touch..." I sigh against him, caressing them with my hand before trailing my way down to his chest, holding it over his heart as I feel his rapid pulse through flesh and bone.

"I love your chest. I can feel toned muscle underneath, a hint at your true strength that always manages to get me going. No matter how much you might hate it, I love your belly. I love the thickness of your hips, the size of your body as I wrap my arms around you, drifting off to sleep against soft flesh..."

I press more chaste kisses along his stomach as I pull down his trousers, over his hips, to the tops of his thighs. I can feel him tense as I progress lower and lower, breath hitching as I teasingly slide my tongue along the insides of his thighs, nearing his straining erection. Defences broken down completely, he bucks his hips impatiently in search of some form of stimulation. I briefly consider holding back, but I can't resist the overwhelming urge to just give in and provide him with the pleasure he seeks. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, and I feel his hardness twitch in my hand as I press my tongue to the tip.

He groans in rapture as the wet muscle begins to work at the organ, lips enveloping him completely as I take him into my mouth. I alternate between sucking at the flesh and bobbing my head, captivated by the small sighs of pleasure that leave his parted lips. His hands find my hair as I pick up my pace, entangling his fingers in my vibrant curls.

"Fuck." He moans, reluctantly tugging at my locks as he pulls my head up. I look up at him in confusion, but I can't withhold the bush that stains my cheeks as I take in the dark lust in his eyes, the pure look of want that smoulders my skin.

_Beautiful._

"If you keep that up god knows I couldn't bear to stop you." He admits, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face as he smiles affectionately. It's always odd when he looks at me like that – as if he was looking upon something awe inspiring, eyes dancing with almost evangelical reverence. I'm just me, but in his hands I become something perfect, someone complete.

"Why, you had other plans?" I ask jokingly, just to see the adorable smirk on his lips. The plan succeeds, and he can't resist rolling his eyes as he grabs my hips, shifting me above his own. I press back instinctually, a shudder running up my spine as I feel his hardness against my ass. I lean in to reconnect our mouths, and he murmurs between heated kisses, fingers fiddling with the button of my trousers. "Lube. Condom. Drawer. _Now_."

Obediently, I reach blindly behind us to feel for the bedside drawers, grasping onto the handle and opening the top one. With a sense of accomplishment my fingers wrap around the cool tube, retrieving it with a grin.

"Very nice." He compliments, taking it from me. I hand him a foil packet too as per his request, and he discards them beside us on the bed as both hands dart to my fly, tugging at the insolent zipper in an effort to free my own hardness. Cooperative, I raise my hips a little so he can tug them down, not even hesitating to pull my boxers with them. I shift back, leaning on his thighs as I remove them completely before throwing them to the floor without a second thought. As I move back onto my knees as we resume the frantic tasting of one another - mouths sloppy as the kiss grows even more lewd and heated – he kicks off his own trousers so that once I pull myself further into him it is uninterrupted skin against skin. I feel my flesh rise in goosebumps, loving every second of the sweet contact.

After a good while his hands travel downward, from the subtle curve of my waist to the roundness of my ass. He grasps the globes firmly in his palms, kneading the flesh generously before his hand finds it's way between my cheeks, finger teasingly brushing against my entrance. The sensation of him nearing my most intimate of areas has me shuddering, the involuntary motion pleasing him greatly as I see his eyes darken with hunger.

"Gonna let me prep you, huh?" He hums seductively, leaning up to nip at my earlobe. "I can't exactly reach properly like this."

"I'm sure we can find a way to rectify the situation." I reply, rolling onto my back as he follows suit, finding himself between my legs. I draw them closer to my chest to allow him better access as our lips collide again, one of his hands on my knee as the other fiddles with the blanket as he searches for the condom. He retrieves the packet eventually, eyes never leaving mine as he tears the foil with his teeth. Already incredibly hard, he rolls the plastic sheath over his cock with one hand as he retrieves the tube of lubricant with the other. Popping the cap, he lathers up his erection and fingers generously, aware that after my period of temporary abstinence I could gladly do with the extra help.

I don't even register that I'd tensed up until I feel a probing finger against the constricted muscle, the cold fluid only worsening the situation.

"Relax." He instructs, and despite the temptation to bite back with a scathing response I channel my effort into breathing deeply, soothing my nerves. It's hardly a case of not being turned on enough – I can't even remember the last time I'd been so aroused – but after so long, being with him like this has all of my nerves raw and hypersensitive. I want him so bad it terrifies me, the intensity of the craving throwing me for a loop. I want his skin, his sweat, him buried deep within me in more ways than one.

His everything.

I let out a whimper as I feel the thick digit enter me, gentle at first as he tests the waters, before withdrawing and entering again at an increased pace, deeper this time. After a few cautious thrusts, another finger presses in alongside the first. The feeling of the stretch causes me to gasp initially, quickly going from uncomfortable to pleasurable as he resumes the pumping motion. He scissors his fingers to better stretch me before pressing in deeper, curling his fingers to brush against a bundle of nerves that has my toes curling, breath coming in short pants.

"You good?" He murmurs, and I nod my response, not quite trusting my voice. He removes the fingers, leaving me feeling strangely empty. The sensation is soon overridden however as I feel the wet head of his cock against me, the feeling more than enough to evoke a pleasured sigh.

Pacing himself, I hear the breath catch in Eric's throat as he enters, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensations. A pained grimace has him reaching a sudden stop once halfway inside, afraid to push me too far too quickly.

"Holy shit…" I gasp breathlessly, needing a moment to adjust to the sensation of being stretched so thoroughly. "You're so thick, I've never had anything your size-"

"It's okay Kyle." He reassures me, kissing my forehead affectionately as his right hand entwines with my own on the mattress. "Just breathe slowly, you can stop me if it gets too much."

Resuming the motion, he presses forward until I feel his hips flush against my body – buried to the hilt in the tight heat. He hisses a few curses under his breath as he feels my muscles contract around him, adjusting to the penetration. After I feel prepared enough I wrap my legs around his waist encouragingly, feet pressing into the small of his back to encourage him to initiate the motion I can't help but crave. Catching on, he begins to rock his hips at a slowed pace; not entirely fucking yet far from still.

A conflicted moan escapes my lips as I revel in the pain-pleasure, sore in the most delicious of ways. Spurred on by the vocalization he quickens the motions, drawing back further before driving in deeper, grinding his hips into mine. I'm unable to contain a pleasured yelp as he brushes against my prostate, one hand flying to my lips in an attempt to muffle the lewd gasps that insist on slipping from between them as the other rakes down the meat of his shoulders. I swear my impassioned clawing broke his skin, and he hisses under his breath at the conflicting sensations – the animalistic drag of my nails spurring him to rut into me a little harder.

"Shit…" I moan, almost chocking on the sound in my surprise as he thrusts hard enough to send the headboard bashing against the wall. Beyond caring about anything else, I can't help but cling onto his sweat-slicked skin as he drives into me once more, growling filth into my ear as I cry out in pleasure.

"You like that, huh Jew?" He purrs, hand leaving mine to grasp at my ass, lifting my hips to allow him to thrust deeper inside. "Like me fucking you?"

"God yes! Faster." I pant into the skin off his neck, feeling my legs shudder from the force. He obliges, and I swear I see stars dancing across my vision as he fills me up so good and deep, wrecking me completely with each skilful hit to the bundle of nerves that has me arching up from the bed until I fear I'll squirm off of the single mattress completely.

I feel the tension build within the pit of my stomach, wound up beyond belief as I feel the threat of an earth-shattering orgasm on the horizon. Very much in sync, I feel Eric's rhythm falter as he comes closer and closer to his release – the very knowledge that I am the reason his brow creases so deliciously as he tries to contain himself, arm on the verge of giving way as he is filled with pleasure so intense he struggles to support his weight, is so insanely hot. The thought of his arousal in turn feeds my own, and before I know it I'm crying out until my throat is hoarse, cock leaking with precum as he fucks me relentlessly.

I feel it through my whole body – originating from my hips and radiating to the tips of my toes, the skin of my scalp. I moan out his name as I hit a blinding climax, and the blissful contractions of my muscles send him into his own. He curses profusely, so far gone to his rapture that the filth is barely coherent. He rides out the orgasm, grinding into me until he doesn't have another drop left to spill.

I feel him give way in his fatigue, collapsing onto my chest as his lips gravitate toward my neck; new kisses and nibbles tracing a path over older hickeys. Whilst I'd love to stay here forever, it's not exactly the most relaxing position. I can't help but chuckle at the adorable, contended look on his face as I shake him gently, rousing him from his reveries.

"I think I'll just stay here a little..." He hums contentedly, planting feathery kisses along the line of my jaw. I feel a little guilty, but realistically I'm not too sure I can exactly get to sleep drenched in sweat and come, with him still nestled half-mast inside me. I may be a heavy sleeper, but I don't work miracles.

"C'mon." I groan, tugging at his shoulder. "We can cuddle later, but I need a shower... _We_ need a shower. Get up."

"Make me." He childishly remarks, rolling over so he's squished up against me on the narrow bed. Admittedly, whilst I enjoy the inevitable closeness and warmth this isn't exactly a practical sleeping arrangement – perhaps I should try to get Kenny to smuggle us in a king size set up. I'm sure the tenacious boy would find a way, even if it was merely for the sole purpose of sticking it to authority.

"Fine, lie here and smell. I'm going to shower. Should I even bother getting you your boxers or something? Eric?"

I poke him, already realizing that my words had fallen on deaf ears. He's fast asleep, a smug yet loveable Cheshire grin tugging at his lips even in his sleep. Unable to resist, I plant a gentle kiss to his forehead before I leave for the bathroom, pulling up the duvet to encapsulate his sleeping form.

* * *

**_Wow. I'm so glad it's done, but it was so difficult to write. I hope I did it justice! It is insanely long, but I thought you'd all prefer this as one chapter._ **

**_I could really do with a nice dose of positivity, and I owe the fandom a huge thanks as it seems to be my main source at the moment. I love you all so much, and it's crazy how many people have read my fics and supported my writing. It would mean the world if you left a quick review to tell me what you think (even if it's just to kick my ass for taking forever!), feedback is to writers what water is to fish, and my inspiration wells have evidently been running pretty low._ **

**_Lots of love and Kyman,_ **

**_NocturnalLament_ **

**Author's Note:**

> AN: thank you so much for reading! I hope to update every week at least, but this is my first multi-chapter fic so I'm not sure how realistic that goal is. I have a general Idea of the storyline but I'm open to suggestions, so if there's a pairing or interaction you'd like to see I'd love to add it in.
> 
> Please give feedback, Your support inspires me, and every review I get literally makes my day (yes, I am indeed that sad) so please share your thoughts!
> 
> If there is a Kyman fic you'd like to see written please let me know! I love to hear peoples ideas and if I have the time I'll write one for you.
> 
> \- NocturnalLament


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